Redscape
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: Evnara is not a happy island. A deadly disease has taken over the mind of its inhabitants, while a rogue former Redwaller has decided to intervene. This is the story of 10 beasts caught in the middle of it all. Visit our website to discuss!
1. Prologue Pt1: Wine for Levan

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Prologue (Pt.1): Wine for Levan**

_by Admin_

Levan Nakat sat in what had once been his office, staring through the giant hole in the remains of the southern wall of the 1 Marann . Once the view through the southern window had been his favorite. This was the window that he could look out through and see the harbor, as well as the ocean that was the source of Evnakt's wealth. The same ocean that had now proven the agent of Evnakt's destruction. The scene through what had once been a wall was bleak indeed. Buildings that had once been tall, strong and thoroughly modern had been gutted by floods from the storm, or in some cases simply pounded into piles of rubble. Bricks, stones and rotting wood were strewn throughout what remained of the streets, interspersed with a few remaining bodies, which were a mixture of old and new. After the storm had come through, the patrician ferret had tried very hard to retrieve and properly bury or put out to sea all of the bodies, but between the loss of much of the city guard when their barracks had collapsed in on itself and the more immediate tasks needed to sustain life, some unfortunate victims of the storm lay even now in the streets, limbs contorted grotesquely, skins bloated by decay, the corpses torn at by sea birds. Dire as this was, what was even worse was that the flood and storm victims were a small percentage of the bodies still about. Most of the bodies in the streets and in the bowels of abandoned or water-gutted buildings were those of plague victims. Even the birds would not touch those.

Nakat, a short, bookish little ferret who nevertheless had once looked quite pleasant in the fine clothing his family's wealth had afforded, had previously been, if anything, a bit heavyset, good food and soft living having been sufficient to negate a metabolism inclined naturally towards sleekness. Now, however, his appearance bordered on emaciation. It wasn't that there was no food to be found for the mayor of Evnakt, but just that he refused to eat anything, his mind and heart in far too much turmoil to accept physical nourishment. Nakat remembered preparing for the storm, and that cold, wet, tight ball of fear that had formed in his stomach. He remembered going over disaster plans wondering if there would be enough infrastructure left to fulfill them, and he remembered taking stocks of emergency supplies, knowing even as he did so that however much he had would not be enough. The residents of Evnakt were creatures sustained by the sea, and paid close attention to the weather, which was recorded in great detail in the city archives. Neither those records, though, nor personal recollection, told of skies as dark and windy as the ones that had hovered over Evnakt before the storm. The entire island had had a sense of imminent doom about it.

And what a doom it had been. The seas that had sustained Evnakt turned on the little island with unimaginable ferocity, waves cresting at unprecedented heights and then slamming with savage force into the shores of the island, crushing buildings, smashing open ships and drowning lives and livelihoods. Parts of the city had been largely obliterated, the buildings mostly smashed apart, the streets flooded. Other areas, further from the shore, had escaped total destruction, but still sustained heavy wind and water damage, as well as many lives lost. The city guard, a key component of the disaster plans, had suffered grievous losses itself when its barracks failed to hold up against the storm's power, and its collapsing walls killed many guards.

Nakat had been shocked, almost stunned, to behold the destruction that had befallen the city that had been his burden and his birthright since the beginning of his adulthood. The streets of Evnakt had once been busy day and night with vermin scrambling to find money or products or entertainment. The noise from the taverns and brothels and inns and trading houses had never faded, even in the dark, and at night the city had been a cluster of light on the island, with lamps over the streets and candles in the windows. It was not a beautiful city. It didn't have an ancient, rich cultural heritage. And yet, the residents, for the most part, loved it as THEIR city. It was a place where vermin had never had to worry about the heavy paws of woodlander law falling upon them, a place where a beast with skill and energy and some luck on their side could wind up happier and wealthier than they had been when they arrived. To some in the upper class that doubtless didn't seem like very much, but Nakat, despite being born in the lap of luxury, understood better than most of the elite how important that fact was to the rest of the city.

During the time immediately after the storm, Nakat had been a whirlwind of activity, reorganizing the remaining city guards to relocate afflicted residents into the less severely afflicted areas of the city, distributing supplies, taking stock of damage and making preparations to try to repair. Life was harsh, to be sure, with a great many citizens dead or missing, families torn apart, or wiped away entirely, and commerce severely disrupted. The survivors had to contend with the loss of their livelihoods, and with being crowded into relatively small areas of the city in very tight quarters. Yet despite all this, the ferret had felt just a small glimmer of hope. Looking at the citizens, his citizens, he saw that their spirits were not completely broken. They were shocked, in pain, fearful, yes, but there was still to be found their the will to survive, to try to rebuild what had been lost. The two or three weeks after the storm had in fact been highly productive. The vast majority of the victims had been buried or put out to sea, rubble had been cleaned up, survivors found and treated, damage assessed and plans made. Teams had been organized to bail out key areas, and even the weather had cooperated, with bright sunlight and high temperatures drying up much of the standing water. What remained of the city had mobilized as one to try to save itself. For just a little while, Levan Nakat had dared to hope that maybe it might succeed. That's when nature had decided to crush his hopes entirely.

Nakat took a pull from the flask of wine in his paw, the only thing to cross his lips in days except for the water needed to sustain his life. A medically-inclined historian would not have found anything surprising about the idea that what remained of the Evnaktan citizenry had been struck by a plague. Such a historian would doubtless point out that the conditions were perfect. Despite all the efforts to clean up, conditions were still more than a little unsanitary. Large groups of displaced, stressed, frequently injured beasts had been resettled in close quarters and high density. Food and water supplies had been seriously impacted. Levan Nakat, however, was not a physician or a historian, and so all he could feel was surprise, terror, and a hint of betrayal at the sheer injustice of it all when the plague had started amongst an already devastated populace.

The remaining physicians on Evnakt had been at a loss to precisely identify the sickness, even before their numbers had been further reduced by the plague. Afflicted beasts started off with sharp headaches, eyestrain and stiff, painful joints, as well as a growing level of irritability, hostility and paranoia. These beginning symptoms were followed in days by a sharp fever, accompanied by an agonizing burning and itching senesation in the skin, the severity of which was such that the afflicted frequently had to be restrained from tearing their fur out and scratching themselves bloody. The impact on personality became even more pronounced, with some victims becoming antisocial to the point of violence. Delirium set in, then convulsions that produced horrible, spasmodic thrashing, and the vital sstems of the body just gave out. No wonder some had taken to calling the disease Martin's Madness, evoking the feared rodent war god from the mainland.

Nakat had read over the death records, at least until they became more and more disorganized to the point of being barely useable. He frequently visited the sites where the overtaxed force of medics, healers and nurses, many of them only informally and hastily trained in a sort of medical conscription, attempted to care for the victims. Numerically, only a little more than a quarter of the population was infected. However, the resources that this quarter, dubbed "marties" by the rest of the populace after the convulsions that marked the late stages of the disease, consumed was vastly disproportionate to its size, because they usually had to be separated from the rest of the population, and often forcibly restrained for treatment. A small percentage of those afflicted with the disease recovered fully.

In many particularly horrible cases, however, the body of the patient survived but not before the hostility and paranoia spiraled into outright madness. There were murders, suicides, arsons, and all manner of other crimes against life and property committed by these unfortunates. Most, however, turned primarily on themselves.  
Nakat himself had personally witnessed a fox martie in a field hospital tear loose from the two weasel nurses trying to restrain him. The fox had thrown them to the side, and grabbed a set of blades from the bag of a stoat healer. The fox had stabbed the stoat in the arm, but then immediately lost interest in causing further harm to the mustelid. Instead he had taken the blades to his own face, slashing them across his eyes and muzzle while yelling things that had held meaning only to him as onlookers watched in horror. Finally, the martie nicked one of his own jugulars and bled out in the midst of the field hospital as Nakat watched in shock. The ferret mayor had seen other horrible things before, and other horrible things since. But that day in the field hospital was when Nakat had lost hope.

In a vain effort to try to contain the disease, Levan Nakat had given an order that had made him physically sick. He had ordered that any of the patients of the disease—he refused to call them 'marties', not wanting to give that loathed deity the credit for this affliction—who did not improve within four days of diagnosis to be put down, euthanized. Nakat had wrestled with his conscience over this order, and his inner turmoil was made even worse when it utterly failed in its desired effect. The staff of one of the largest field hospitals mutinied, declaring the hospital and the area around it to no longer be under Nakat's jurisdiction. In other hospitals, medics released patients in all states of the disease rather than killed them, while in other instances marties escaped on their own, running away into the city to pursue whatever mad whims their disease ravaged brains could invent. Family members hid anyone who started to show signs of illness until they died, recovered or went irretrievably manic. Some parts of the city rioted because he was too extreme, and others rioted because he was not drastic enough. In short, Levan Nakat had lost control of what remained of his wreck of a city.

That was why, a few days after the situation had deteriorated past all repair, Levan Nakat was sitting in his old office, staring through the wall, waiting for the nightshade in his wine to take effect and take this problem off his paws.


	2. Prologue Pt2: Deja Vu

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Prologue (Pt. 2): Deja Vu **

_by Admin_

"Martin loves us. Martin loves us all. Who could ever say less of him? Some of us grew up in a place where we spent our days learning of how whenever there was a threat to the Abbey, Martin would always provide for us in our hour of need. We spent our night, warm and well fed, secure in the knowledge that Martin was protecting us. Even those of us who are not from Redwall know of these stories and this security." The speaker was a squirrel, young in seasons but with a mature seriousness and an earnest charisma not often seen in beasts only shortly into their adulthood. His features were handsome, almost archetypal of his species' aesthetic standards, but there was a sadness about him, a sense of knowledge gained at a steep price.

The crowd he was addressing consisted of something over five hundred woodlanders of many different species, predominantly male but with a number of females as well. They were on the banks of the River Moss near the mouth of the river where it met the sea. Waiting in the river were boats that would take them to their newly commissioned trio of ships. They were well armed with a variety of weapons, often those characteristic of their species. Otters had javelins and slings, squirrels had bows and short swords, and the mice, shrews and few hares all had an assortment of arms. This, however, was no disorderly mob. The woodlanders were standing in orderly formations, and all wore a tunic cut from the same type and color of cloth that was used in the well known Redwall Abbey tunics. Seargeants, furthermore, had yellow bands tied around their right arms, while officers had red-dyed cords braided around their right shoulders. Flanking Marcion stood twin badger standard bearers holding flags that consisted of a green field and the device of a lightning bolt striking through a chain. This was the symbol Marcion had adopted for Felldoh's Heirs.

"Yet for all his strength and wisdom, Martin can protect us no more than we can protect ourselves. Sadly, some in my former home were too nearsighted and too cautious to look beyond the present and keep us safe from future threats. They dithered and pondered and equivocated until it was too late, and good woodlanders died for it. Good woodlanders like my brother, Marcellus, warrior of Redwall, who gave his life ending a threat that should never have been allowed to grow to the size it did. But no more shall we delay, no more shall we defer payment in blood and toil from today until tomorrow. Fate has handed us an incredibly opportunity in the form of a storm and a plague that have given us a chance to avert a vermin threat that dwarfs that of Fort Mepsira. If a fort and a town of vermin could cause us such suffering, what evil could be done by a whole island of them? Are we going to let our kits learn by suffering it for ourselves?"

A resounding "No!" went up from the crowd, most resoundingly from those who had been at Redwall during the event referenced in the speech and had chosen to leave as a result.

"We will land on Evnakt, secure the ruins of that writhing cesspool of vermin decadence, and make it into an island stronghold that can stand us a bulwark against the corsairs and wave vermin who have terrified us since the time of Luke. In times like these, we cannot hold out for heroes from abroad, it is we who must save the day. Let us become the heroes ourselves, and let all vermin learn that the name of Felldoh lives again in us. Blessings on you all, and board your ships knowing that from your sacrifice shall whole generations blossom out." Marcion, the squirrel who had forsaken Redwall for an older warrior tradition, stepped onto his personal boat to the sound of a thunderous war cry from the assembled mass.  
"FEEEELLLLDDDOOOOOOHHHH!"

Some four weeks later, Jothro the shrew staggered into the makeshift infirmary set up in the ruins of what had once been a tavern, clutching a bloody, crushed muzzle. "Liddle weasel imp bwoke my nobe!" the shrew managed to get out between little jets of blood. "Why can'd we jubt kill em all now?"

His friend, a squirrel called Thistletail who had been with him helping to drag the weasel in question to the appropriate holding room leaned in. "Wot I've heard tell is that Marcion doesn't want Redwall finding out and getting their habits in a twist over him killing beasts who surrender. So he's going to put them to work cleaning up and getting the place ready for us, and then put them on a ship crewed entirely by otters. The otters will sail the ship a ways out, scuttle it, and let the deep blue sort it all out while the otters swim back. Then if anyone asks he can say it was a shipwreck."

A female mouse with a brown leaf shaped patch on her tunic came over and began to treat Jothro's nose, adding in her commentary as she did so. "It does seem a bit extreme, simply dropping them all in the ocean. I'm sure some of them could learn to be productive with proper woodlanders watching them. They've built some impressive things here, even if the purposes are a bit unsavory."

Thistletail shook his head. "Sorry, Leazom, but beasts who spend time building multistory brothels and rows of taverns and all this other mess o' stuff here are never going to be fine upstanding goodbeasts. Yes, they brought in a lot of gold, but really they were just letting other vermin be vermin for a price. Besides," he added darkly. "Are you really goiog to tell me they built all this themselves? Wouldn't surprise me one bit if they brought in a bunch of woodlander slaves to build it all up."

Leazom frowned. "But then why didn't we see any of them?"

Thistletail looked at her darkly. "Leazom, they just had a flood and a plague. Food would have been in short supply…do I really need to tell you?"

Leazom shuddered. "What an awful thought…but surely not all of them would have done something like that! Even if they're vermin, all beasts have limits."  
Jothro started to add his input. "Dell dat—"

The female mouse interupted him. "Don't try to talk, you silly shrew! You'll just undo what I've been trying to do to fix your muzzle!" Turning back to Thistletail, she shook her head. "Well, I suppose I'll have to trust that Marcion knows what he's doing. He hasn't led us astray so far. Anybeast who can keep order in this kind of chaos must have a good head on his shoulders.

Thistletail nodded. "Ain't that the truth…remember how we were all gawking when we first got here? Hardly any trees, just a big mess of buildings and roads and rubble and stuff? And all the vermin hiding everywhere and the total chaos of it all? He may have a pretty face but he's no fool."

Just then, and otter wearing a sergeant's armaband walked in. "Hey, Thistletail, quit chewing the fat and get back here! We have another bunch of them coming in! You know the drill, five to a room, males and females separated, and so on. We've almost used up all the useable rooms in that big inn, so we'll have to find another one, board up the windows, and post guards like at this one. Now get back to work!"  
The otter and the squirrel left the injured shrew and the healer and headed back join the rest of Felldoh's Heirs to deal with the group of ten vermin being brought in for holding.


	3. The New Rulers

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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start of week one.

**Chapter 1. The New Rulers**

_by Admin_

Major Rocrova Bloomley Regaworth couldn't help but feel a little twinge of dismay every time she looked at her new lord. Even without the factor of his…problem, the badger lord of Salamandastron was only just barely an adult. Seasons, both of Major Regaworth's LEVERETS were older than the 17 year old male badger who had inherited his post half a season ago with the death of his father, the previous lord of the mountain. All the way up to the ceremony when the youthful heir had been confirmed, Major Regoworth, a mature doe whose white fur was marked only by a circle of black around her left eye, had hoped against hope that some previously unknown badger of qualified age and pedigree would show up. Such a badger had failed to materialize, and so Garrilan Sharpstripe became LORD Garrilan Sharpstripe. There had of course been murmurs of discontent, of course, and a certain lack of confidence in a lord who, it had been confirmed, was lacking in one of the primary qualifications held by most of his predecessors. Be that as it may, however, the hares of the Long Patrol were professionals, not some rabble of vermin who mutinied or deserted when they didn't like their leader, and so Major Rocrova Bloomley Regaworth, whose parents and grandparents and great grandparents had served their respective lords, maintained a stiff upper lip and a completely professional demeanor as she delivered a flawless salute to a creature who had been learning to walk and talk when she had been a junior noncomissioned officer preparing to seek her commission.

Lord Garrilan looked at her with a slightly puzzled expression when she continued to stand at attention, then remembered what he was supposed to say. "Oh, right, uh, at ease." He didn't sound remotely intimidating or majestic. He certainly didn't sound like he should be in charge of one of the major powers in Mossflower. He didn't look the part either. His features still seemed like those of a juvenile, and his plain blue tunic and simple girdle, while well made, did not seem quite in line with the attire of a ruler. "So, ah, I needed a hare to perform a mission that needs to be kept a little, a little discreet. Are you aware of both the background and recent event on the island of Evnakt?"

"Indeed, sah. The Patrol's been watching the vermin of Evnakt fall about themselves for quite some time." Major Regaworth did not bother to remind Garri—LORD Garrilan, she corrected herself—that the name of the island was Evnara and it was the city that was called Evnakt. "Our contacts and informats'll keep a weather eye on things. It seems t'me, though, that that bunch of greenhorns callin' themselves Felldoh's Heirs are handlin' the situation right enough. I believe you've met their leader, sah, squirrel by the name of Marcion."

"Yes…" Lord Garrilan said, frowning slightly. "He is a friend of mine, if you are using a very loose definition of the word.. Or at least he was when I met him last, but, ah, Marcion is not—I'm not sure, ah, well, I don't know how much we can trust him. We did not part on the best of terms." The youthful badger lord looked as uncertain as he sounded, and something in Major Regaworth wanted to cringe at the badger lord's lack of gravitas. Garrilan continued. "Marcion is a good squirrel, a good woodlander, but…sometimes he is so busy being a good woodlander that he is not always an easy beast to deal with.. That, and he has an ego big enough to sink a ship. I could ignore that before, but since he left Redwall I don't really trust hin, That's, ah, why you're here, actually. You see, there's something on that vermin island that I want to have, and if I can't have it, I at least want him to not have it. Marcion, I mean."

"What is the nature of this item, sah?" Major Regaworth asked, feeling even less pleased than she had been earlier. Getting into the middle of political bickering was not her idea of an ideal first assignment under the new badger lord.

"Well, I don't actually really know how it works, but that's what hares are for." Garrilan picked up a scroll of his desk and opened it. "The, uh, the…I think you call them intelligence...well, they wrote this description of it for me, and even if I don't know how it works, they were very clear on what it does. I want this item, I NEED this item, and I'm going to need you to go get it for me." Lord Garrilan handed Major Regaworth the scroll.

The doe twitched her right ear, which had lost its tip to a fox's sword years ago, as she read the description of the item in question. "Great seasons, sah... you don't suppose this Willowfur chappie could be pullin' your leg on this, perhaps? I realize the intelligence lads think he's trustworthy, but you can jolly well never be too certain… and with respect, sah, it's not unheard of for escaped slaves to try embellishin' stories. Blighters think it'll prompt us attackin' their captors, wot."

The badger lord's scowl did not look nearly as intimidating as it should have been. "Are you questioning the integrity of a personal slave to a high ranking vermin who risked a fate worse than death so that his two kits would grow up free? This is exactly the sort of beast who has carried the day for us again and again over history. I'm surprised that a Long Patrol officer would, doubt, ah, their word for that of vermin."

Major Regaworth was not intimidated, but she was a bit surprised. "Beggin' yer pardon, sah, but as a Long Patrol officer I'd reckon I know what vermin're capable of rather better than most." Especially creatures who are the age of a lot of the green recruits she didn't add. "However, liars, cads, bounders and killers that they are, vermin are not incapable of reason. The residents of Evnakt, as I see it, were neither starving nor abused. They seemed t'be looking towards material gain rather than power or cruelty. It doesn't make a wit of sense that they'd put a whacking great amount of time and energy developing summat like this. Though, if they did invest the time and energy, why not use it? And surely they'd at least spread the alarm, wot? Tell everybeast about it so's nobeast would trifle with them?"

Garrilan chuckled in an almost condescending fashion that sent Major Regaworth's mood plummeting even further. "Major, I do hope that living at Redwall as a leveret has not made you soft. I find that most of the Redwallers no longer have any spines under their green habits."

"Sah?" It was all Major Regaworth could do to avoid gawking at this statement and the harshness with which Garrilan had said it. The rudeness of the implication that she was insufficiently committed notwithstanding, she had never heard of any case of a badger lord speaking of Redwall like that.

"Marcion being an egotistical prat who likes to use name dropping a, pretty face and loud speeches to get what he wants notwithstanding, he has a point. Redwall HAS gotten soft. All those seasons of nobeast attacking them has made them forget all the seasons of everybeast attacking them. So much so that they left their own warrior and his companions out to dry because they had the guts to fight vermin who did all the things that the vermin hordes of the past did but made sure not to attack directly." There was a darkness and intensity to Garrilan's face that Major Regaworth had never seen before, and the doe began to wish that she knew more about her new lord than the little he had told them when he had first arrived. A moment later, however, it passed, and he was once again scarcely an adult. "Be that as it, ah, may, this thing, it, it doesn't belong to Marcion. It needs to belong to me. Take a small, stealthy force that can move quickly and remain unnoticed and, ah, go get it on Evnakt. Bring it back to me, or at least make sure nobody else can have it. I need it. It will fix me It will fix all of us. It will make me the badger lord my ancestors would have wanted, and make the Long Patrol even more than it is now. It will mean Salamandastron will never fall."

"Thillep! Thillep!" Marcion got to the young mouse, barely a juvenile, just as the rodent staggered forward, his abdomen slashed open by a knife. His own wounds momentarily forgotten, Marcion's fury quickly overcame the ferret who had wounded his friend. Thillep was already dying, blood and entrails spilling out onto the grass, his eyes starting to glaze over. Before he died though, Thillep managed to sit up just a little, enough to look Marcion in the face.

"Th—they left us alone, Maaa—cion, they ab—abb…." Thillep couldn't even finish the sentence before he died. Marcion would never forget the look of absolute despair and hopelessness on that face…

Marcion sat up in bed with a start, but quickly established that he was in safe location, specifically in a room of what had once been a fairly upscale inn. He was not in danger, and he was almost alone. Still, despite it being the middle of the night, the squirrel elected not to go back to sleep. He quickly dressed, and walked from the bed to the desk, sitting down with the large, table-sized map he had drawn up of the city and then market with small stones of different colors to connotate areas controlled by Felldoh's Heirs, areas controlled by specific groups of vermin, and areas controlled seemingly by nobeast at all.

There was a stirring from the bed, and a slender female otter sat up, blinking sleepily. "Marcion? What are you doing? Come back over here where it's warm…"

"Get back to work. We're finished here and I'm busy right now. And no, that wasn't good enough for a promotion." The squirrel didn't even look up from his map at the scowling female otter as she left in a huff while he continued to plot out his future tactics. Fighting in a city was more difficult than he had predicted. Cleared buildings and streets had to be recleared again and again, key areas wound up taking much longer to search and secure than planned,, and the streets, buildings and piles of rubble or collapsed structures all contributed to creating an environment of low visibility, considerable potential for ambushes and low potential for use of traditional woodlander fieldcraft and tracking techniques. As the female otter left, scowling, he turned his attention to supply reports. As troubling as the unusual environment was in many ways, it did at least serve to ensure that they actually had MORE supplies than he had thought they would. They had found hidden stores of drink, forgotten weapons, fishing equipment that the non-otters could use, and even a small but welcome cache of medical supplies. This didn't even mention the various abandoned trinkets and trade goods. The squirrel had been a little bit disappointed in the conduct of a few of his soldiers after they had secured their main forward operating basis and cleared out most of the vermin from immediately surrounding areas. Many of them had chosent o spend their off duty time looking for abandoned goods, drinking, or even fornicating within the ranks—the very idea!--, and otherwise acting a bit too hedonistic for Marcion's tastes. That was the downside to having an army that, despite having a significant presence of similarly disappointed Redwalls who had left over Abbott Olleran's infuriating accomodations towards vermin, was still composed largely of regular woodlanders not connected with the Abbey. Sometimes he wished there were more true believers and fewer beasts looking for profit, adventure or anything else other than the establishment of an important strategic outpost. Still, Marcion was a practical squirrel, and he knew to pick his battles.

The handsome squirrel frowned as he contemplated the distinct lack of papers dealing with one of his primary objectives. Posters hangings in all of the areas where vermin were detained stated that there would be freedom and safe passage of the island in store for anyone with information about Sarkleyet, Nevyeer, or the Red Brandy, but so far absolutely nothing useful had been divulged. Many vermin had tried to explain to him that Sarkleyet and Nevyeer were a pair of rich musteline academics who lived in a large house near the outskirts of the city and employed a number of healers and fellow academics for some poorly defined purpose, but Marcion already knew all that. He also knew that they had been among the relatively few residents of Evnakt to own any slaves, let alone a large number of them, and that they seemed to experience an a very high mortality level amongst both woodlander slaves and the vermin menial laborers they sometimes hired as well. Inquiries about the Red Brandy had been even more pointless, with most just guessing that it was a particularly strong or desirable alcohol.

Resolving to solve this particular mystery later, Marcion turned his attention to more immediate matters. Changing the whole strategic calculus of Mossflower would have to wait.


	4. Stop With All the Blackouts!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 2. Stop With All the Blackouts!**

_by Sybil_

How long has she been sailing around in this dump? One week? Maybe more? It had at _least_ been a week out in the middle of this ocean. It wasn't her first time in a ship, but Sybil still hated all this teetering and tossing with the waves. In here, she could barely hold down her own stomach and her shoulder wound constantly stung. Was it infected? She wouldn't know; and as flexible as her kind was, she couldn't twist her head around to inspect it either.

And to make it worse... her secret stash was left back at Seaport Isle. Who was going to find it? Probably some snot-nosed rat with grubby paws. The marten buried her head in her arms as she imagined all those hard-earned goods being stolen. _A thief being robbed by a beggar... that's rich._

But then again, she was going to Evnara- one of the most prosperous vermin ports in the world. It was out of sheer luck that she was ending up in there. How many aristocrats were there to steal from? Probably a lot, and it was likely that they would have troves of treasure compared to the junk back at home.

_Heh... might not be so bad after all... once I get off this blasted ship, that is._

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Sybil cursed the corsairs up on deck. They were always so loud, stomping around and roaring at each other. She groaned and leaned against the wall as the pounding pawsteps shot frantically against the wood. Sometimes she wished she could just poke her head out of this miserable storage room and peg them in the forehead with a fist.

"Get the... loosen the... I swear I'll hang ye by yer... and gut... kill..."

And now was the daily round of muffled verbal abuse from the captain himself. The stowaway fidgeted, wishing for the long-awaited quiet and empty night shifts where she would leave her hiding to stretch and wander. Here however, she was left alone to her thoughts as she simply slept, drank, and ate.

She picked up an overripe apple from a box, biting into it as she mulled about her future plans. Wouldn't it be nice, starting from scratch and creating a reputation all over again? After all, a new criminal would be all over the news, making those poor rich snobs have to buy padlocks and pay for extra guards. And what kind of name would they give her this time? "Trace Thief" was catchy, but she was getting tired of hearing it over and over again.

There was a sudden high-pitched shriek that jolted her from her thoughts. It was a scream- not one of those angry screams. It was the kind of cry born from fear and pain. She swallowed nervously, trying to shrug the disturbing sound out of her mind. It was none of her business what the captain did with his crew anyways. But still, she couldn't help but wonder why he would suddenly find it necessary. She gave a tiny gulp, gripping the handle of her pocket knife.

And again, Sybil jumped as she heard more screams of agony, followed by the harsh clashing of steel.

Mutiny?

That was a possibility. There was more panicked yelling going on above deck and it felt as if the sea itself was roiling up at the thought of bloodshed.

"FEEEEELLLDOOOH!"

Of all the sounds she could discern from the scuffling up there, that was the one thing that was clearest. _Who in blazes is Felldoh? Is the crew avenging someone?_

That was it. She just had to look now. Just a peek. It had been a long time since she'd seen anything even remotely interesting. The marten swept up the small flight of stairs as gracefully as her cramped legs would allow, pressing an ear by a door as she tried to listen for anybeast right outside. If anything, the clamor of combat had only intensified and she heard the sounds of more beasts than she thought was already on board. The idea struck her: what if they were being attacked? They could easily burn the entire ship down!

She forced herself to swallow down her panic, pressing her right shoulder against the door while the stupid thing refused to budge. She panted, paws growing sweaty as she pushed her full weight against it. Her fears were surfacing in her mind now as she started jerking the handle in and out rapidly.

_No, no! Wait! This can't be! The lock was always broken! How...?_ And then she felt something warm and sticky against her footpaws. Sybil looked down at the liquid pooling on the ground. It was too dark to see, but the sickening smell of death made it obvious. She shoved the door half-heartedly, watching as some more blood began dribbling through the cracks in the woodwork. Now she knew what was blocking it.

---

"All right... clear 'em up!"

The marten crouched down further behind the barrels as her mind buzzed with doubt. There were so many things that could be on the other side of the door and she had no idea what they were here for or what they were going to do. If she was lucky, they would simply take the useless carcasses and toss them overboard so that she could escape later. But if they decided that they wanted to snoop around here...

She heard some creatures grunt outside as something heavy _thud_ded against the ground. The thief held her breath, laying her ears flat against her skull as the door shuddered open to reveal the silhouette of a mouse. She hissed inwardly, turning away from the dazzling sunlight as she heard more pawsteps and several hushed conversations.

"Now search the area," a voice boomed above the rest. "We want to catch as many as we can." There was a chorus of "yessir"s from the group as they began shifting past the inventory, sometimes showing delighted surprise at what the wine casks held. Sybil huddled between the clusters of barrels, her paws strangling her tiny knife while mentally kicking herself for choosing the spot that would attract beasts the most. It must've been that she was frazzled and injured. _There is no way in Gates that I would normally make a mistake like this. I shouldn't even be stuck in this situation, dammit!_

She felt one of the casks grate against the floor as somebeast tugged at it. The outlaw took advantage of the moment, jumping up and punching him right in the throat. She didn't catch what kind of creature it was, but all she knew was that it was down on the floor gasping for air as she dashed up the stairway and through the door.

The runaway heard the banging of paws up the steps as she looked about her, seeing the shocked faces of both the woodlanders and the captured crew. Where was she going to go now? She twisted her head this way and that, trying to find someplace to hide in broad daylight. _Crow's nest! They'll never catch up to my climbing!_

Knife between her jaws, the marten clambered on to a net of rope that climbed upwards to the tip of the mast. She felt it sway and shudder at her weight as she struggled upwards, keeping her eyes up on the top. If there was a beast there, she would knock him off. If nobeast was there, all the better.

"Get it down from there!"

"Shoot it! Shoot it!"

"No! There's nothing up there. It's trapped."

"I'll get her!"

She chanced a look downwards, scowling as a young squirrel scrambled up the rope ladder, forcing her world to jerk and wobble even more. There was nowhere else to go now but up. The thief cursed herself, wondering why she made such an impulsive decision in the first place. She abruptly shoved those doubts to a corner of her mind. If anything, she had to escape. She had gone too far to be captured by these woodlanders.

Sybil pushed herself up with in unsteady movements, frustration building up at the pit of her stomach as her shoulder hindered her. The marten couldn't help but stop to take a break at one point, gritting her teeth as she saw the little dots of woodlanders on the ship next to them, their arrows trained on her. She bit her lip, ignoring the doubts suddenly screaming in her head. Instead, she forced herself to stare at her safe haven up top as she continued closing the distance between her and her destination.

"Give it up, vermin," her pursuer panted raggedly. "There's nothing up there to go to. This ship is taken, so just surrender! Surrender!"

_Sounds like a tempting offer_ she thought sarcastically, throwing a leg over the side of the crow's nest. Here she was now, the highest point of the ship. It was strange, how while everything down on the world was chaos, the air was pure in the skies and the sea never lost its sheen.

But this was no time for daydreaming.

She took the blade from her mouth, feeling her hot and shaky breath against her paw. The squirrel was even closer now, though he hung back in case she decided to do anything with that knife.

"I-if you cut the rope... I hope you know that you have no way down!"

Scowling at the obvious statement, she carefully climbed out of safety and on to the wooden beam that held the sails aloft.

"W-what are you doing?!" he gasped.

Sybil ignored him and all the woodlanders' cries as she crouched low and crawled across the horizontal beam. Her claws dug deep in the wood when she looked down, seeing nothing but tiny little specks staring up at her in astonishment. It was at this point that she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears like a frantic war drum while her mind squirmed for an answer.

In all her seasons, there was always some alternative to capture. There was always some step she could take that would lead her elsewhere. But now, she was stuck and it was all thanks to those stupid woodlanders, that arrow wound, and this accursed chunk of wood floating on water.

_What to do next?_

Her eyes roved around desperately before the next opportunity struck her. In less than a second, she had grabbed a rope with one paw, squeezing it tight as she slashed it.

**FWOOM!**

The marten yowled in surprise as the sail's free corner suddenly went wild and billowed up against the wind. The force buffeted her tiny frame, hoisting her high into the air so that the momentum sent the knife flying out of her paws. She shut her eyes tight as she felt the world around her spin and swirl uncontrollably, the sudden dip and rise of her stomach telling her that she was plummeting to her death.

Sybil could hear nothing but her own terrified screams and the wind whistling through her ears as her arms remained stretched out above her head, clinging on for dear life. She felt herself suddenly lurch, and then there was a floating sensation in the air as all motion seemed to stop for one split second. She cracked her eyes open, seeing nothing but the blinding blue of the sky before the merciless gravity threw her back down.

The marten was completely helpless as she swung back and forth over and over again like the bob of a pendulum. Suddenly, the pit of her gut told her that there was a twist in direction and-

"OOF!" She gave a sharp gasp of pain as her wounded shoulder collided with something. In an instant, she felt her back crumble as the rope slipped out of her grasp.

And then she was falling... falling...

---

_Light._

That was the first thing she noticed. And then...

_A bed?_ No... it was a cot.

It took a surprising amount of effort to prop herself up on her elbows, but she soon collapsed with a pained exhale the instant she put weight on her left arm. She grit her teeth, wondering what in blazes happened this time. Everything seemed to be going wrong for her now with all the injuries and fainting.

Carefully, she rotated her injured arm, relieved to find it was not broken. The marteness plopped her head on her pillow, the past's events slowly becoming more than just a blur.

_It might have been better if I just jumped to my death,_ she thought bitterly. And now what was going to happen? Those woodlanders obviously tried to keep everybeast alive, so what did they want to do with her? Sybil looked around the tiny room, her eyes squinting against the dim light as she recognized nothing but blank walls. And even more, her room was quiet except for the groaning wood of the miserable ship.

Slowly, she shifted each of her limbs, hoping that none of them were in terrible shape. It wasn't until she had moved her right leg that she felt some heavy substance on her ankle and the melancholy jingle of chains.

Now it made sense what they were planning for her- slavery. She clenched the sheets in her claws, suddenly finding them worn blunt from all her harrowing circumstances.

She lifted her paws in front of her eyes, inspecting the damage when she noticed something move in the periphery of her vision. She startled, forcing herself to sit up, her pain forgotten as the door swung open to allow an otter to saunter in, a paw laid proudly on the hilt of a sword. From the set of his shoulders and the fine clothes he wore, she figured that he must've been the one in charge.

"Who are you?" he asked, his nose lifting into the air with distaste. His captive said nothing, preferring to keep the angry silence.

"I said, _who are you?_" he repeated. "The crew says they'd never seen you before."

"Just a stowaway," she muttered.

"Hm..." he mused. "And where did you get that arrow wound?" He pointed a claw at her shoulder where fresh bandages had been laid.

The thief shrugged, keeping her voice as even as she could. "I was running."

"From what?"

Again she shrugged, preferring not to admit herself as a criminal. "Sir," she began, mentally spitting upon the word, "I'm just a traveler hard on her luck. I just wanted to get to Evnara for a better life away from village thugs that I owe coins to."

She couldn't help but ball her fists as the otter snorted. "Evnara! That place is crawling with filth and disease!" Sybil pursed her lips, not trusting herself to open her mouth and _not_ say anything insulting.

Her interrogator raised a brow. "Didn't you hear? The place was hit hard by a sea storm and a plague has gotten them pretty bad." And despite the grimness of the news, there seemed to be no hint of sorrow or regret in his voice. "Well," the riverdog continued. "It seems that our little attack makes little difference on your trip."

"W-what do you mean by that?"

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

The arrogant woodlander turned back to the door, still wary to keep the marten in his scope of view.

"Dirk! You're needed! There's an uprising among the prisoners!" She heard him curse under his breath as he hurried through the door, slamming it after him. She heard a soft _click_ follow in a few seconds, promising her that escape was futile. She sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted as her head collapsed into a moldy pillow. Letting her wrist rest upon her forehead, Sybil thought her circumstances through one last time.

Yet once again, she had gone unconscious during a wild flight and had found herself in another situation where she had no idea what was to become of her. _Out of the frying pan and into the fire. At least now I know where I'm going, though._

Considering that the otter might not have been lying through his teeth the entire time, she would guess that they were still going to Evnara. But why would woodlanders go to a vermin-run island? She doubted that the renowned paradise was really steeped into so much chaos as he had described. It was only the decision a brain-dead fool would make- journeying to a plagued island to see what little treasures they could scrounge up.

But then again, treasures might not be what they were after. They were after slaves.

As shockingly sickening as her revelation should have been, Sybil couldn't help but chuckle to herself. It was just as she thought. These spoiled woodlanders, always complaining about vermin doing this this and that that were just the same as everybeast else in the core. They lead their perfect little lives in their perfect little homes with their perfect little families while they constantly preached of justice.

And now here they were, not in the position to criticize her kind anymore.

_It's almost funny,_ Sybil thought to herself as blackness started growing in from the corners of her vision.


	5. Nothing Spoils a Seashore Holiday

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 3. Nothing Spoils a Seashore Holiday**

_by Pearl_

Little pebble upon my paw,  
from where I'm standing here on the shore,  
How many seasons have you been here?  
Little kitten upon the shore,  
from where I'm lying here on your paw,  
You are to me like a passing breeze.  
The sun will always shine where you stand,  
no matter in which land you may find yourself,  
Now you have my blessing, go your way.

"You're not supposed to eat the pebble, Luv," Pearl laughed, gently taking the stone from the infant. In its place she offered a spoonful of cream colored mush. "This is your food, Darling."

The sight of a parent and child picnicking on the beach had never been a common sight on Evnara, especially not now after everything that had happened. Pearl, however, wanted Sandy to remember more than just chaos and panic. She wanted her to grow up with memories she could cherish as she got older. Here the two sat on a blanket by the shore with another blanket rolled up and placed behind the little one who was just learning sit on her own.

"What do we have mixed in your porridge today, hmm?" The kit leaned forward, mouth open wide, to find out. She almost overbalanced and toppled ears over tail.

"Well there's no need to get that excited," the older vixen chuckled again, steadying the little one before she continued the meal. "It's only a bit of mashed apples. Better then those turnips we tried though, eh?"

Sandy had recently become dissatisfied with milk. This was a relief to her guardian. Finding a nursing mother to bottle up a seemingly endless supply to sustain the kit had been an incredible challenge. Pearl, however, had refused to leave her grandkit with the female until she was weened. She was determined to do this parenting thing on her own.

The vixen wanted Sandy to have all the things she hadn't been able to give to Jasper. This was coming at a higher price than Pearl had imagined, though. All of her precious gems were slipping through her claws; both the flesh and blood ones and the stones she had acquired for her services.

_"I just can't stay, Ms Pearl," said Jade as she threw her clothing and other belongings into the bag lying open on her bed. "The twins made it out before the blockade went up, and Emmy . . ."_

"That was. . . very unfortunate," Pearl admitted sadly. Neither of them wanted to remember what had happened to the wildcat who had run away and become one of the victims of the madness.

Jade sighed. "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but Ms Pearl, that child has totally distracted you from the business. It's not doin' me any good to stay here."

"Well you have to do what you think is right, Jade."

"And that's another thing, Ms Pearl. My name's not Jade. It's Tala."

"We've still got each other, haven't we, Luv?" Pearl spooned another dollop of the mixture into the infant's waiting mouth.

Sandy spit it back out happily in response. Her grandmother laughed and looked around to see if anybeast had noticed.

There was somebeast watching, an otter with a sling in his paws and a dagger in his belt. Pearl nodded at him warily.

She supposed she should have been glad that the woodlanders had come. It had been they who had cleaned up the island enough to make this little outing possible. However, that didn't make her any less nervous to be observed so closely by one of them.

Pearl put on a brave face for the child and whispered, "I believe we have an audience. Shall we give them a show." Lifting Sandy high over her head she began to sing, not one of the bawdy ballads she had used to entertain the customers at the Oasis but a nonsense Dibbun's song she had learned long ago.

That's when the rain began, first one drop and then another. One splashed on the kit's nose and she looked cross-eyed down her muzzle.

"I guess that signals the end of our picnic," Pearl swung the child around once more, both of them laughing, before she settled Sandy on her hip and began the one armed job of gathering their things into the picnic basket.

Their observer didn't seem in the least deterred by the change in the weather. His eyes were focused on the vixen and the kit. Whatever or whoever it was that had compelled him to keep watch on the pair had obviously provided strong motivation.

"Right then. Let's go home." Pearl glanced back once more at the otter before she started for the road that would take her back to the center of the city and the Oasis. She continued to sing odd snippets of the song as they went along. This was mostly to spare the child from any fear of danger but it also had the effect of calming her own nerves.

_It could just be a coincidence_, the vixen told herself as she caught another glimpse of the same otter after turning several corners and even taking an alleyway she wouldn't normally have used.

The streets were wet now and her thin, fashionable shoes would soon be soaked through. "We won't need a bath tonight, will we, Luv?" Sandy clapped her paws together and cooed, but Pearl could hear the splashing of their pursuer's footpaws behind them and she picked up speed.

"Hold on there," the woodlander shouted, and she could be in no doubt that he was speaking to her.

Pearl didn't stop. Instead, she quickened her pace again. Instinct warned her that something was not right.

"Please Marm, I don't mean y'any harm. I just want t'talk to ya." _Indeed_, she'd heard that one before.

One inadequately shod footpaw found a large puddle just as she reached the Oasis, but the vixen ignored this and took the front steps two at a time. She dropped her basket, and searched franticly in her pocket for the key.

Sandy thought this was great fun. She flailed her arms about, squealing, and making it very difficult for Grandmum to keep a hold of her with one arm.

Finally Pearl found the key and brought it up to the lock, but her paws were shaking and the small piece of metal slipped from her grasp. "Damnit," she whispered. Then looking at Sandy she amended the statement, "You didn't hear me say that."

The tiny vixen giggled with glee while the older stooped down carefully as not to drop the infant and picked up the key.

When she stood again however, she was eye to eye with her pursuer. "Why'd you run, Marm? D'you have some place you've got to be?"

"I was just going home." Pearl tried to control her trembling as she gestured towards the door with the key in her paw. Maybe he'd think it was just the cold rain giving her a chill.

The otter took a look at the building and seemed to realize at once what it was, or what it had been. "You live here?"

_Were woodlanders really this dimwitted?_ Pearl thought. In her annoyance she regained some of her bravado. "Yes, I do."

"And the kit?"

"Well she's mine so I suppose she lives with me." She tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice and turned back to the door with the key.

He put a paw on her shoulder to stop her. "You live here with that kit?" He asked again, slower this time as if he expected a different answer.

Pearl answered just as slowly, "I live here with this kit." Then in a rash outburst she continued, "We can't all grow up posh and cozy at Redwall, can we?"

Maybe it was her tone, or the mention of that precious piece of property back in Mossflower, or maybe the idea that a whore raising a kit in a brothel was bad enough. He frowned at her. "I'd like you to come with me."

She frowned back at him. It was raining harder now. "I'd like to get this kit inside before she catches death of cold. You're welcome to come in, have a cup of tea, we'll talk about this." Some of her natural hospitality came through even her worry and annoyance.

The woodlander looked appalled. "Nah, I think you'll be comin' with me." He clamped a strong paw around the upper part of her arm that wasn't occupied with restraining the kit.

"Sir," The title was laced with contempt. "I would ask you to remove your paw."

"'Fraid I can't do that. You come along easy now so that little one doesn't get hurt." Vermin she may be, but he did seem to be honestly troubled about the kit's welfare.

Pearl attempted to jerk her arm away once and then consented. "Right then, I'll come, but I'm going to make sure your superiors know how you kept this child out in the rain."

"Y'doomed her to a life o' sellin' herself for profit, an' yur worried 'bout the rain," the otter mumbled as he escorted Pearl a little more roughly than necessary down the street toward the building where the woodlanders had set up their headquarters.

"I've what?" Pearl asked in horror having heard the comment, and she forgot to struggle. She was having a hard enough time keeping hold of the squirming kit, who still believed the whole thing was a game.

Bitterly, her captor pulled her on a bit faster. "Well, yur a . . . and what's she s'posed t'learn by watchin' you? That that's . . . okay?" He growled under his breath at the very idea. "An innocent Dibbun, and you teachin' 'er all sorts o' nasty tricks. Yur not fit t'raise anybeast."

He'd said the very thing she had feared. Maybe she was unfit to be somebeast's mother. She had failed Jasper, and now she was on the path to failing his daughter as well.

Sandy seemed to sense her grandmother's change of mood. She whimpered and then began to cry.

"It's just fine, Luv. Don't you worry," Pearl shushed her. "We'll get this straitened out and go home as soon as we can." She could tell the words were as unconvincing to the kit as they were to herself. Still, she tried to keep her own tears from spilling down her cheeks the way they were cascading down Sandy's.

It seemed an eternity of walking through the driving rain before they reached their destination, where a mouse behind a desk asked the otter, "What's that you got there, Ronan?"

"That whore they asked me t'follow, she's got a kit," Ronan answered. He smiled proudly as if he had done a great deed for society.

The mouse looked up with a disgusted expression. "Bring the kit to Leazom. She'll know somebeast who can care for it properly."

The otter nodded and proceeded to try to take Sandy from Pearl's arms.

"NO!" The vixen screamed. Could they not see her tears? Maybe not because of the rain. She kept a tight hold on Sandy while she pleaded, "It's not like that! I don't do that anymore! I would never raise her to do such a thing!"

A tug of war ensued which alerted Sandy all the more to the seriousness of the situation. She let out a high pitched wail and grasped on to pawfuls of Pearl's fur.

Doggedly holding on, Grandmother and child screamed out their protest, "You cant take her from me!"

The woodlanders however turned a deaf ear to the pleas of both the vixen and kit. Others joined the struggle and eventually separated the two.

"Wait! No! Where are you taking her? No, please!" Pearl shrieked, finally defeated. "She's all I have." She watched helpless as they whisked Sandy out and the child's cries died away.

"Take this one down with the others," the mouse ordered and with that washed his paws of the momentary disturbance.

The vixen was too distraught to notice the rain now as she was marched back out the door and down the street to the old tavern. There she was tossed unceremoniously into a makeshift cell with another vixen and a pine marten.

_So this is to be it_, She thought to herself hopelessly. _I failed Sandy just like I failed her father_. The future looked so bleak. After everything that had happened, everything she had done, she wasn't the same creature she was when Jasper was a kit. She had changed, fought to better herself, put old mistakes and bad choices behind her.

That thought lit a fire in the old girl. She _had_ changed. She wasn't an unfit parent and she was going to prove it to them. All she had to do was get out of here and make them see.

Pearl looked around at the other beasts that occupied her cell. They looked as bedraggled as she had felt a moment ago but she could give them hope. Her paws smoothed down her wet fur and clothing as best as she could to freshen her appearance and then she addressed the room, "Well isn't this a pretty kettle of fish, but we'll settle it out soon enough. In the meantime we might as well get to know one another if we're to be roommates. My name is Pearl. What's yours?"

The Marteness ignored her, slinking off into a corner to sit with her knees drawn up to her chest. The young bespectacled vixen, on the other paw, looked up at her elder with a simple, innocent smile. "Oh, I've heard loads about you, Ms. Pearl, so I have."


	6. There's a New Sheriff in Town

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 4. There's a New Sheriff in Town**

_by Sheriff Brull_

A metallic snapping noise permeated the silence of the new Earl's office, causing the weasel butler to look up from his sweeping. He fixed his annoyed glare towards the Earl's drinks cabinet, where a hefty rat stood with a broken handle in his paw and a look of mild surprise on his face. Realizing the servant's displeasure, the rat shrugged apologetically. "Must've pulled too hard," he offered as explanation. The butler sniffed, and averted his eyes from the uncouth rodent. Not impressed, but unwilling to tell off the Sheriff, the weasel quickly finished his sweeping of the office floor and left the room. He might be bright, the weasel admitted, but the rat simply was not meant for high society!

Sheriff Brull thought so, too, but with less disgust for the fact. At any rate, he wasn't sorry for the departure of the weasel. Any beast who dusted for a living and still thought himself better than others was a twit, in the Sheriff's humble opinion. Besides, if the cabinet's handle couldn't withstand a little tug, than it probably wasn't made very well in the first place. Brull had probably done the Earl a favour by exposing the faulty craftsmanship. Satisfied with the reasoning he had provided himself with, the rat helped himself to the Earl's alcohol collection. If the cat was going to keep him waiting, Brull figured the least his host could do was provide the good Sheriff with something to drink.

Settling on a light reddish liquid, Brull poured himself a glass and took a sip. Oh, now that was nice! Very fine drinks in this house. At least the new Earl had better taste in liquor than the old one had in decorations. A critical glance around the office revealed a strange motif involving a purple carpet, various vases, portraits of icy landscapes, and a particularly hideous stuffed bust of an eagle, of which the left eye seemed to be missing. Trying desperately to avoid focusing on the latter ornament, Brull hoped that this show of taste would not continue with the dead noble's brother. The rich seemed to have strange whims; but then, when one had power and money, who was to say they couldn't do anything they wanted?

The Sheriff ambled over to the desk near the back of the room and sat on a wooden chair, absentmindedly placing his feet atop the former piece of furniture. He had considered resting on the Earl's larger, more comfortable chair, but given that Brull had already helped himself to the cat's drinks' cabinet, he decided not to press his luck. Sipping his drink, the rat pondered how much a chair like that cost. It had nice velvet padding, and the arms had pleasing carvings on their sides. Now, Brull decided, that was something worth spending money on. Not like a silly eagle head. Had the deceased Earl even hunted? Yes, the Sheriff remembered, he had. Went out bird hunting every spring, sure he had. Never asked Brull to come along, of course, but it seemed important that the common folk know what big things the up-and-ups were doing.

Allowing his drink to perform its wonderfully warming dance as it waltzed down his throat, Brull wondered what it took to actually take down an eagle, never mind behead it and have it stuffed on your wall. One would have to be an exceptional hunter with exceptional wits, naturally; couldn't be too careful with a bird that size. Strange, thought the Sheriff, that a cat who had enough guile to kill an eagle could be snuck up on in the middle of the night and murdered. Whoever had killed him must have not raised any suspicion from the deceased...

Sheriff Brull gulped the alcohol down, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and placed the glass on the desktop. The case was solved, as far as the public was concerned. Who cared who the real murderer was?

The hinges of the office door offered the slightest creek, giving Brull enough warning to take his feet off the desk, stand up straight, and attempt to look like a competent civil servant as a young, gold furred cat strolled into the room. In a seemingly exaggerated way, the new Earl widened his eyes and smiled. "Ah, Sheriff Brull," he greeted. "I'm terribly sorry about keeping you waiting. I was merely taking care of some administrational matters. Taking over the office of my deceased brother, creating relations with other nobles, you understand."

Brull wasn't sure he did understand all the things required to be an Earl, but dutifully nodded. "Right you are, sir. I don't imagine it's easy on you, your brother dying and all that." Realizing that his attempt at being consoling had failed, the rat struggled to maintain a positive tone. "But if I might say so, sir, we couldn't be more lucky to have a successor as delightful as yourself."

Rather than annoyed, the cat seemed amused at the Sheriff's attempts at flattery. "You're laying it on a little thick, Sheriff Brull." And he capped it off with what sounded suspiciously like a condescending laugh. "Dear, oh dear," he added superfluously.

He wasn't sure why, but the laugh caused the rat to feel some sort of aggravation to grow in his throat. Shrugging it off, Brull tried to stimulate further conversation. "Everything in order, though? Sir?"

Brull couldn't help but feel jealous as the Earl slide into the coveted chair behind the desk. "Yes, yes, everything's quite in order. A few vows to uphold old relationships with a few nobles and a few heartfelt wishes of success, the usual fare when dealing with aristocrats."

That's one way of phrasing brown-nosing, thought Sheriff Brull, who rather than voicing his thoughts opted to say, "Glad to hear that everything's turning up roses."

The Earl nodded. "Yes, well, I do have give some credit to you, of course."

It wasn't often that beasts gave Brull his dues, and he was slightly aback by this admission by the Earl himself. "Is that so, sir?"

The cat nodded. "Indeed. Solving my brother's murder has put many minds at ease. There were one or two worries that this might become serial."

Standing up just a little straighter, Brull nodded graciously. "Oh, think nothing of it. No one likes having a murderer around." Who had said that? It sounded like a familiar phrase... Samson. Heh, no one liked having a murderer around, all right. "Besides, it's my job, being Sheriff and all. Can't have a bunch of lunatics running around, no sir."

The Earl nodded empathetically. "All the same, I must tell you, I'm rather pleased. I'm aware that the coinciding events of my brother dying and my taking his office are more than suspect, and I'm glad the issue was solved before too many beasts started to look at me sideways."

Whoever killed the former Earl must not have raised suspicion, or at least wouldn't cause any alarm by their presence... no proof, of course, but it was likely... "Glad to be of service, sir," Brull conceded, with genuine pleasure. Murder was only murder if you got caught. Feeling quite content with receiving praise for a job well done, the Sheriff queried, "Will that be all, sir?"

The cat shook his head. "Oh, no, I've got something I wish to discuss with you. Please, sit down. Would you care for a drink?" The Earl turned his head towards the drink cabinet, and, somewhat shocked, remarked, "Now, how did that knob break off?"

Taking advantage of the distraction, the rat hurriedly removed his hitherto unnoticed glass from the desk top and placed it under the desk after he sat down. "Hard to say. You just can't get good quality woodwork nowadays. No pride in it, that's the problem. Beasts are running around with half an idea of how to make a cabinet, and don't even bother to make sure it works."

After he had another drink in his paws, Brull was more than willing to listen to what the Earl had to say. "Now then, Sheriff Brull, what do you think about foreign relations?"

The rat thought for a moment. He desperately wanted to say something intellectual to impress his employer, but the best he could come up with was, "Well, I'm no expert on that, but I reckon it's better to have more friends than enemies."

Much to Brull's surprise, the Earl nodded in agreement. "Believe it or not, it's really as simple as that. With more friends, as you put it, the more prestige, wealth, and potentially, power, a nation will have. Under my brother, Meadowtop was fairly isolated from the rest of the world."

The Sheriff shrugged. "Well, we aren't really a nation, if you don't mind me saying so, sir. We're more of a town, really."

"All kingdoms start small, Sheriff, and they can only grow bigger if those at the helm start thinking bigger." Taking a sip of his own drink, the cat asked, "What do you know of Evnakt?"

"Sounds like a bad cough."

"Not quite. Evnara is an island in the southern sea, where a ferret named Marran Nakat created his own colony some time ago. Totally from scratch, and yet the island now stands as a successful port, city, and dare I say, kingdom." A gleam of ambition appeared in the Earl's eyes that Brull hadn't expected from the seemingly docile feline. "Just like that, a piece of rock in the middle of nowhere becomes an island of success. I may flatter my own abilities, but I hope to emulate that success here in Meadowtop."

The rat sipped his drink, thinking over this plan of action. Meadowtop become a kingdom? Somehow, Brull couldn't see that, or at least didn't understand the necessity for it to become one. Things seemed to be complicated enough as it was, never mind the problems that would result in making it bigger. Still, the Earl was the one in charge, and could do whatever he wanted. The rat couldn't help but suggest caution in doing so. "That'll take some doing, sir."

Once again, Brull was surprised by receiving the agreement of the Earl. "Right again, Sheriff Brull. It will take, as you say, quite a bit of doing. To start, we'll have to start making allies to help us on our way. Which brings back to Evnara..."

"You think they'll go for it?" Brull interrupted. "This Ev-whatever is going to want to pal around with us? No disrespect, of course, but if they're already successful at whatever it is they do, are they going to want to share the wealth?"

"Please don't interrupt me, Sheriff Brull."

It wasn't a harsh admonishment, but the rat felt jilted all the same, as if he had forgotten that one beast in the room was nobility and the other was not. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"As I was saying, as unlikely as it might seem, it was Evnakt who contacted us, not the other way around. It seems that the mayor of the island had contacted my deceased brother with a request for assistance."

"Assistance for what?"

The Earl pulled a letter out of his desk and read it aloud. "The island was hit by a major storm, the letter claims, and the local authorities are having issues sorting out the chaos. Looting, anarchy, the usual fare when control is removed."

Brull shook his head in pity, though he really didn't find the will to empathize with the plight of beasts he had never met. "That's a shame, make no mistake. Bad enough when you've got trouble, but when you can't put it down yourself, that's a problem and a half, make no mistake."

"Correct, which is why the mayor, by the looks of it, was sending out pleas for aid to anyone who would listen."

The rat felt a small tightness emerge in his stomach. "We don't really have much assistance to give," he pointed out. "We ain't got an army, and any supplies we could muster might as well be used by us first."

"No, but I do have something to give to them."

Brull got tired of sipping his drink, and decided to gulp it. "What's that?" he asked as he put the glass to his lips.

"You."

Choking on a particularly strong alcohol was more than enough to cause Brull to fall out of his chair with a bad coughing fit. His mind was filled with the none-too-pleasant vision of holding back a raving mob of shipwrecked mad beasts with only himself an a few ill fed local guards. After clawing his way to become top of the heap, the rat was not keen on the idea of throwing it all away on an asinine trip to some forsaken island. "Me!?" he finally managed to cough. "Is your head on... that is, what good would I be, sir?"

Apparently unconcerned with his Sheriff's spasm, the Earl explained himself, while Brull tried to get back to his feet. "You have proven time and time again that you are more than capable of putting down trouble makers, Sheriff. Why, most of the local gangs have gone under since you took control. With you at least part of the relief to Evnakt, I'm positive that you'll make an impression."

Brull's initial reaction was to beam at this show of confidence, but his reluctance to depart from the comfort of his post to some hell-hole island was far more pressing. "But-but sir! Your honour! I mean, I'm tickled pink that you have that much faith in me, but there's only one of me, and an awful lot of them."

"One is enough, Brull. Even the slightest paw-hold in getting Evnakt back on track will give them cause to be grateful to us. And then we're on our way, Brull, on our way to greatness and fortune!"

"That might be going a bit too far, sir," Brull grumbled as he managed to stand up again.

"All journeys start with a single step, Sheriff. And you going to Evnakt might prove to be that step we need." The Earl suddenly retracted his enthusiasm, and shrugged in apparent disappointment. "But I understand if you're reluctant. After all, I suppose I'm asking an awful lot."

Relief washed over the Sheriff. Trying to act unconcerned, Brull explained himself. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, your honour, far from it. It's just that I'm working on a case even as we speak, and..."

"I'll just ask Grit to go in your place."

Grit!? That greasy excuse for a mercenary? Brull gaped in stunned awe. The Earl thought that a common sell-sword was a decent replacement for Sheriff Brull? A new image came into the rat's mind, and he found it even more disturbing and unpleasant than the first. This time, Grit stood shaking the paw of the Earl, being congratulated on a job well done, while a large crowd of nobles cheered and Brull was left standing in a corner. In comparison, to Brull's amazement, that was even more terrifying than being swamped by half mad Evnakians (Evnakers?). "On second thought," the rat added hastily, "it's a very small case. Probably will solve itself before the day's out."

The Earl smiled at the rat, obviously pleased with hitting the rat's weak spot. "Oh, good. So you'll be willing then?"

Maybe not head over heels with excitement, but willing all the same, Sheriff Brull reluctantly conceded. "I can do it all."

"And that's why I'm here."

The hare nodded, digesting the information, while Brull sat uncomfortably on a hard wooden stool in what he guessed was a basement of an abandoned building. At least, the Sheriff couldn't see or hear the sounds of the place being heavily populated, and his head had hurt from being swatted earlier that day, so he wasn't sure exactly where he had come in. "Just dropping in unexpected, wot? No transferring of supplies or any of that nonsense?"

The rat shrugged. "Like I said, mate, I'm the only beast the Earl sent. If anything, you ought to hire me. I was under the impression I was supposed to knock a few heads, anyway."

The hare actually smiled, with relative good humour. He didn't strike the Sheriff as a particularly hateful beast, or at least one that wasn't about to put the screws to Brull. "Sounds like a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dreadfully unfortunate."

Brull laughed mirthlessly. "Hate to be a bad guest, but I didn't reckon on running into you beasts at all. The letter didn't mention anything about your lot. If it had, I would've just stayed home."

That seemed logical to the hare, sparing the rat any of the patriotic rhetoric Marcion enjoyed talking about. "I might join you. Nasty business, this Evnakt thing. Street to street fighting's not my cup of tea. Bally wish I was back at home m'self." Pacing the dank stone floor, he remarked, "Don't know if I can let you go just like that. Bad form, you know, freeing prisoners without permission."

Brull had a thing or two to say about "bad form," but given that his future, and potentially his life, currently depended on this hare, the rat decided to hold his tongue. "Look, uh, sir, if this is about releasing 'one of the enemy' back into the ranks, you've got nothing to worry about. I ain't been here half a day, and in that half, I've seen more than enough of Evnakt to want to hightail it out of here. Put me on the first ship out of here and I swear, you'll never hear from at least one dirty, rotten vermin."

"Wish it were up to me, old chap," the hare said with something that at least sounded like sincerity. "But all I can do is let the fellows running this party that you're not planning an uprising or some silly notion."

Sighing with annoyance, mainly out of the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to get out of this jam just yet, the former Sheriff asked, "Can you at least fill me in on what happens to vermin-types such as myself?"

"Well, you're not an immediate danger, so we won't be knocking your block off here and now. Fighting's died down, so I don't s'pose we'll be having too many beasts calling for blood."

Execution? This was not the turn Brull had expected. "Now, hold on there, what's all this about hacking off noggins?"

The hare changed the course of the conversation with lightning speed. "For now, you'll be held with a few other detainees we've recovered. I don't know exactly what will happen, but I'll be certain to put in a good word for you."

"Wait, what do you mean, you don't know?" The rat had unintentionally let a small note of dread slip into his voice as a pair of otters appeared and, taking him by the arms, dragged him out of the basement.

"Rivertail, Creel," the hare instructed the otters, "kindly place Mr. Brull in the cell with the wolverine. It's easier to keep track of them if they're all together."

"The wolver-what!?"

The hare gave the Sheriff one final look of pity. "I really hope we'll see you again, Sheriff Brull."

In spite of this kindness, Brull couldn't help but finally lose his temper. "You're not going to be seeing much of anything once I smack you upside the head, you long eared, big nosed, posh talking..."

The otters raised their eyebrows on more than one occasion as the colorful commentary continued. Even when it was quite clear that the hare could not possibly hear what the rat was saying, Brull still contended himself with mumbling vaguely coherent threats against his captors. "Yeah, takes two of you and an army to take me down. Let me tell you something, mate, give me five seconds wtih you alone and your nose 'ill be sticking out the back of your head!"

The otter Creel winked at the rat, obviously not intimidated by his blustering. "Stow that kind of talk, mate, you'll be making me blush if you're not careful."

"'Sides," Rivertail added, "you won't be wanting to be getting on the wrong step with your bunkmate, no sir."

Brull was not impressed, insessently talking even as the door to his makeshift cell (it seemed, to the Sheriff, to be more of an overlarge storage closet). "Huh, we'll see if he's not more worried about getting on the wrong step with me! No beast pushes around Sheriff Brull and gets away with..."

Brull's attitude was abruptly changed by combination of the rat being shoved into the room, the door locking with a clicking noise, and the particularly unpleasent sight of a very large, clawed, fearsome looking, brown furred juggernaut that did not appear thrilled with it's new companion. The Sheriff stared at the monster, for monster it was, and decided that, in this day and age, force was an over-rated thing, and diplomacy was not nearly practiced enough. "Well," the rat started, a wry grin on his face, "as far as inns go, the food's not bad, but the service is terrible."

The attempt at an opening joke was met by an indestructable wall of silence.

Not feeling any better for trying, Brull gestured to the corner opposite of the wolverine. "Just gonna move on over here. Not doing anything. Just taking a sit down." Without even a head movement from the wolverine to indicate that this was an acceptable thing to do, the rat sullenly sat on the hard wooden floor and crossed his arms.

All things considered, he wished he had stayed home.


	7. THe Long Dark TeaTime of the Soul

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter Five. The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul**

_by Ikaras_

Ikaras could feel himself drifting about, light as a feather. Memories whizzed past, carrying with them sounds, smells, and images he had long ago forgotten. He could hear voices, shouting, whispering, and screaming a thousand different things that the wolverine couldn't quite make out, before everything finally boiled away into blackness.

He opened his eyes.

~-=~=~=-~

When Ikaras was very young, he had read a story in which a wonderful artist painted all the colors of the world. Using his brush, the painter would carefully outline every leaf of every tree in rich green, and wash the sky with pale blue. With great pains, the artist would give bright color to the flowers and plants. The world was his canvas, the book said.

_If that was true, then the scene he now finds himself in must be the part the artist cleans the brushes on afterwards. What color exists here is mostly grays and browns splotched across the dirty mantle of snow with no apparent rhyme or reason. The boughs of the evergreen trees droop, sallow and bristled._

He remembers this place. He is home.

Aras' paws, the characteristically dark brown of all wolverines, kick up a fine spray of snow as he walks. Though the snow is shallow and the sun is out, the young wolverine breathes heavily with exertion. Frozen breath billows from his nostrils. It's always cold, here. Always.

The long trail of pawprints leads more-or-less straight towards a ramshackle assortment of boards. Viewed from the right angle, the boards seem almost to form a dwelling, albeit one constructed with neither skill nor pride. This monstrosity is the place that masquerades as his family home.

Aras stops on a large stone slab outside the sagging door. The wolverine's sharp muzzle furrows distastefully as he tries to wipe the clinging snow from his paws and shaggy tail. The dwelling is dank and empty. Water endlessly seeps through the roof, pooling on the stone floor.

In a corner, bracken and dead branches have been dumped in an ungainly heap.

Ikaras dutifully loads them into a thick metal trough. The wood is damp, but is eventually coaxed to catch flame. Aras drags a rickety armchair over to the crackling fire. The young wolverine settles deeply into the threadbare embrace, basking in the warm orange glow.

Time passes, and silence reigns. Eventually, the door slams open.

Narkus stumps into the room, trailing slush.

"Hello, Narkus."

"Aras," Ikaras' older brother snorts distastefully at him as he leans a longbow against the far wall.

A scrawny ermine enters, groaning under the weight of the dead gull strapped to his back. The slain bird's head lolls to one side, frozen in life's final moment of shock, eyes wide. For a split second, the bird's image flickers. It becomes a young female hare. The hare, blood running down her face, reaches pleadingly toward Aras. He starts, blinking in shock. The bird returns, one wing flopping awkwardly over the ermine's face.

A third beast enters. That would be Liartes, the runty youngest brother perpetually one step behind the older lads. His only aspiration in life is to emulate Narkus, though for what reason Aras could never begin to guess.

"Toss the carcass over there, Tysen."

The ermine scrambles to comply, shrugging off the avian's weight. The gull hits the floor in a flurry of feathers.

Without warning, Narkus, Tysen, and Liartes tear into the bird. Flesh is stripped, muscles shredded as three snapping muzzles and six sets of claws fight savagely for the largest share. Bones are snapped with sickening crunches, as the carnivores gnaw for marrow.

Off to the side, one mangled leg lies in the dirt. Most of the meat is gone, but a few pink shreds still cling to the bone. Aras eases off the chair, and starts towards it.

Narkus whirls, blood dripping from his fangs. "What in Hellgates are you doing?"

"I haven't eaten yet," Aras replies, trying to keep his voice level.

"So get your own bird, lazybones."

"What?" Aras snaps incredulously, ears flattening. "I pull my weight around here, plenty." He makes a grab for the bone, but the older wolverine stamps down, trapping it.

"How? By scribbling and reading books all day with Old Yuell?"

"I'm Yuell's scribe. He pays me."

"Bah, and if you save everything what he pays you, in three seasons you can buy an acorn."

Aras snarls. "Give me that bone, Narkus!"

With a nasty smile, Narkus picks up the bone. "This? Oh, you can have it."

Before Aras can react, the limb smashes into his face, followed instantly by a footpaw to the stomach. Strong paws slam Aras to the ground. His face is smushed into the dusty floorboards. The wolverine chokes, the gritty stuff filling his nostrils. The fire roars in his peripheral vision.

Aras can feel the air being crushed from his lungs. His gasps for breath, his throat ragged. The wolverine's vision goes red around the edges as his paws flail uselessly. Narkus' breath practically steams in his ear.

"You're weak, brother. We don't need you. And when the day comes, I'll kill you. You'll taste nice. All soft and lazy..."

"Mmm, soft..." Tysen parrots, licking his lips. Liartes begins sniggering, the parasite.

A female voice, unseen, shrieks at them. "Stop it, Narkus! Leave him alone!"

Narkus snarls at the intruder, foam dripping from his bared fangs. "Gerrofit, Jessika! This has nothing to do with you!"

The intruder cries out again, though with a distinctly nautical flavour. "Oi! The biggun's wakin' up!"

Wait, what?

~-=~=~=-~

Consciousness pounced, dragging Ikaras back to the present. Russet eyes blinked rapidly, trying to assess the current state of affairs. His paws felts heavy, trapped in the cold embrace of iron fetters. A cursory tug revealed that the manacles had been fastened tightly, in a fashion designed to limit movement as severely as possible. Evidently word of the filed bolts had gotten out.

The wolverine lay flat on his back, facing a wooden ceiling. Oak joists, swollen and worn with age. They vibrated slightly with the sound of rushing pawsteps from above. A ship?

An eerie sense of imbalance seemed to lend credence to this theory, as did the pungent scent of saltwater.

_The prison brig,_ Aras recalled. _I'm on my way... somewhere... _

The back of the wolverine's head throbbed, sending pain coursing through his cranium. Hellgates, but those war hammers packed a wallop. Aras bit his lip, willing the pain back. It lessened briefly, pulsing in tandem with several bruises about his torso. Compliments of master Edgardeau Fleetpaw, no doubt.

The hare's mocking voice danced through his ears, hauntingly.

_"In the morning a ship will arrive to take you far, far away, where you'll never harm anybeast again. But you won't be awake to see it..." _

Ikaras snarled as his memory called up an image of the hare's mocking face. The hare who had drugged him, lied to him. _One day, I'll carve that sly grin from your lips, and then I'll use your ribs for toothpicks, Fleetpaw. Just you wait. _

"See!" squealed a voice. "I _tole_ yer 'e was movin'!"

"Garn! I thought 'e were dead!"

"Nobeast cares what ye think, loafbrains," interrupted a stern third voice. "Shift yerself an' alert the Major. Me an' Wakehound'll bring 'im up."

The entire ship tilted slightly, and Ikaras began slipping. Unable to catch himself, the wolverine toppled from the edge of a crude wooden bunk to crash heavily to the floor. Shackles clattered against the deck.

With a horrid groaning, the iron door swung outwards. A pair of beasts stood in the doorway, slightly hesitant. Aras blinked in astonishment. Sea otters! His only knowledge of otters came from the old histories, but somehow he'd always thought of them as being a good deal smaller than these two. They grasped at the chains, trying to haul him upright.

"Hellsteeth!" groaned the younger one. "Might as well try haulin' a mountain!"

"Gah! Let 'im go, we'll have ter try somethin' else." The elder thoughtfully scratched a grizzled chin. "Wot if we tried unchainin' just his footpaws? Then he could stan' up by 'imself, an' we could just guide 'im."

The young otter grimaced. "Izzat really safe? Wot if 'e makes a break f'r it?"

The first otter cuffed the second, roughly. "We're in the middle o' the bleedin' sea! Where's he gonna make a break for?"

"Er... I dunno."

"Right. So unlock 'is footpaws, then. Can't keep 'is Militari-ness waitin'."

There was a light jingling of keys, and then a click.

Scuttlebutt in the ranks had it that the Long Patrol's oldest Major had been saddled with the unwieldy moniker of Jodhpur Perrigan Calderon as a leveret, but nobeast actually knew for certain. The auburn-furred hare preferred to simply go by his initials, and refused to reveal what they stood for. Not even the previous Lord Sharpstripe had managed to drag it out of him.

Major Calderon dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, careful to remove any trace of hotroot soup from his whiskers. Ordinarily the aging hare couldn't abide spicy foods, but the otters' pepper had a surprisingly soothing effect on his ailing stomach. He carefully re-folded the napkin and laid it beside an empty bowl. "Horrible times, these..." the Major murmured to himself. "A young twit of a badger rulin' the mountain, while an old buck like me gets to takin' to the waves..."  
There was a timorous knock at the door, which opened slightly.

"Yes?"

A vole peered inside. "Afternoon, Major. The big 'airy un in the cells is awake, sir, so's Wakehound an' Shelldog are bringin' 'im to you, sir, as per yore orders, sir," he babbled.

"Mm, thank you."

The vole's head bobbed farewell, and the door closed.

Shortly, the door opened again, and admitted the captive wolverine and his two handlers. The sea otters deposited Aras on a sturdy bench, and were dismissed with a curt wave of Calderon's paw.

Aras took stock of the cabin. Despite the expected disorder that one encounters at sea, everything in the room was tucked away neatly. A few books stood proudly on the shelves, arranged from tallest to shortest. In one corner was an immaculately-made cot. The bedspread appeared to have been turned down with the edge of a knife.

On the table, a gleaming fork and spoon were laid perfectly parallel to a crisply folded napkin. A cup of tea sat delicately steaming atop a saucer. _Oh, good gravy. Again with the tea? _

Across the table, Calderon raised an identical teacup at him. "Long Patrol Major J.P. Calderon."

"Ikaras. Just Ikaras. No tea, thank you. I've had bad experiences."

The old hare chuckled. "Mmm, jolly good! I see your memory's getting better, then. Clever beast, you are. In fact, just the sort of clever beast the Patrol needs, as it happens."

Aras slid the saucer aside, intentionally spilling the tea. He half expected the hare to dive at it with a napkin. "With all due respect, Major Calderon, I don't know why I should do you any favors."

Calderon chuckled again. "Steady on, there. Hear me out. We'll be pulling in to port later today, wot, island by the name of Evnara. Place has been hit with a terrible storm, bunch of beasties killed, lot of buildings collapsed, that sort of thing."

"Wow," said Aras flatly. "Hate to be them."

The Major carried on, ignoring him. "And then, to make things worse, this bloomin' plague starts up, and beasts start going off the deep end. Then we've got this group of renegade woodlanders on a divine mission from Martin the Warrior tryin' to wipe out the vermin. An' that, Ike me lad, is where I'd like your help."

"Wiping out the vermin?"

"In a way. What I need from you, sah, is information. Who are their ringleaders? What're they plannin'? That sort of thing, wot."

Aras was incredulous. "You want me to be your... _mole_?"

"Hawhawhaw, good one! Wolverine as a mole, yes, jolly good wit, there."

"But, seriously, you want me to be an informant? What do I get in return?"

"Well, take a look at what I'm offerin', Ikaras," intoned the hare, from behind tented fingers. "You can help us out, an' you're essentially free t'roam the island as you please. Give us what we want, an' I can even see towards gettin' you jolly well back to whatever land you came from. All it'll cost you is the good faith of some beasts you've never met before, an' never will again. I'm offerin' you one incredible deal here, lad. So, what do you say?"

"What else can I do? Given that I'm on a prison brig, it's not very likely that if I decline you're about to say 'Well, if you don't want to help us, never mind, you're free to go.'"

Calderon leaned across the table. "That depends. Are you innocent?"

"Logically? ...Maybe. Fleetpaw said that some hares from the Long Patrol had been killed, after I supposedly killed one of their daughters."

Aras recalled the hare from his dream, her paw reaching out for help. For _help_. From _him_. He dismissed the memory, and continued.

"Why would I have fought them? Nobeast voluntarily instigates a fight in which they're outnumbered. If they'd caught me in the act of murder, why escalate things? It would have been far smarter to simply run away."

"Jolly good point. Tactics don't line up." The old hare's brow furrowed with thought. "Though, if you're innocent, why try to escape the bloomin' jail?"

"Instinct. What would you do, Major, if you suddenly awoke in a prison cell guarded by weasels, with no clue as to how you got there?"

The light went out of Calderon's eyes. "I don't know. Now," he snapped, "Will you take the deal, or won't you?"

"I guess I have no choice."

"Very good. Once we make port, I'll arrange with the local woodland beasts t'have you detained with some other prisoners. Make some friends, bandy about, see what y'can learn, an' we'll be in touch soon."

Aras grimaced. "Sounds _delightful_," he lied.

Aras rubbed idly at the metal band on his right forepaw. It _itched_. He was probably going to start losing fur there, before long.

Losing the shackles had proved a bit difficult. The chains had come off easily enough, and the manacles hadn't put up too much of a fight, save for this one. After they'd made port, Calderon had called in a smith. The ancient hedgehog had tried a number of things, but to no avail. The cuff had resolutely withstood the hammer blows, the grease, and the filing.

Eventually the hog had given up, leaving Aras still imprisoned just that one tiny bit. The irony was striking.

A pair of Calderon's lads had hustled him at spearpoint through the remnants of Evnakt, maintaining a healthy distance. They moved briskly, and Aras hadn't been able to see much of the devastation. Though the glimpses he had been able to catch had well reinforced the notion that things on Evnara were looking rather grim.

Crumbling, ruined buildings bordered the rubble-strewn street. High above, barren window frames had stared accusingly down at the trio as they passed. Splintered frames marked the point where doors had been forced from their hinges. Only the hollow openings remained, filled with a yawning blackness. It was all so _hollow_.

Clearly, the death toll of Evnakt had not been limited to flesh and blood. A thriving economy, an entire way of life, had perished here. This place had once been vibrant, thriving on the hopes and dreams of countless individuals. Now, there was only desolation and empty houses.

All this, in the name of good...

And then, they'd come to the bloody cell. Life, Aras reflected, was rapidly becoming nothing but a series of them.

It was almost laughable that the woodlanders considered this barren room a jail. Judging by the faint odors, this place had obviously been designed for storage of vegetables, not vermin. There was even a sagging set of pantry shelves set into the back wall.

The solitude had given Aras enough time to do some thinking. He was going to have to play the game Calderon's way. Truth be told, he had no other options. The thought of feeding the Patrol real information made the wolverine's stomach turn, and Aras bridled at the notion of being somebeast's pawn. But, Calderon was no fool. The hare would know if he was being given false reports, and he'd definitely have somebeast watching Aras. Playing it straight was really the only conceivable way to keep the hares at bay until he could devise some other plan of escape.

There was a muted conversation going on outside the door. By the tones, somebeast was rather upset.

_First, I'll need to find some way of ingratiating myself with the others. Finding a common enemy in the woodlanders could definitely help... _

The door was yanked open, interrupting his reverie. Somebeast was shoved into the room, stumbling. The rat stopped short, gawking at Aras. As the door closed, the newcomer seemed to shrink. "Well, as far as inns go, the food's not bad, but the service is terrible," the rat offered hopefully.

A scene from the past unfurled in Ikaras' memory. The wolverine stood lost in the scene, unaware that he was staring. _Water, rushing everywhere. Screams. A rat, howling in terror. Smashing, splinters of wood flying in every direction..._

The pregnant silence proved just a tad too lengthy. The rat quivered slightly as he pointed towards a corner. "Just gonna move on over here. Not doing anything. Just taking a sit down."

_De-bloody-lightful,_ thought Aras, as the smaller beast slunk into the dark recess. _Just how am I supposed to befriend anybeast when they all think I'm a walking nightmare?_

Blast it all. Aras would have to figure out _some_ way of making connections, and right now the sulking rat was all he had.

It was high time for some introductions.

"So," he tried, shifting nearer. "What a mess we're in, huh?"

v


	8. Snake in the Grass

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 6. Snake in the Grass**

_by Silisk _

Jothro the shrew sat on top of a wooden crate in what had once been a tavern, short sword propped against the wall and a tankard of ale in paw. This second item drew a sigh of annoyance from Thistletail as the squirrel walked into the room on his patrol of the building.

"Seasons, Jothro, are you trying to get caned? You know the rules about not drinking while guarding the prisoners. Sergeant Yuledt will have a fit if he comes in here and sees your carrying on like this." The squirrel looked annoyed, but not particularly surprised.

Jothro made an exaggerated gesture of looking around. "I don't see Sergeant Yuledt. Iffen he cares about it that much he can come up 'ere and tell me 'isself." The shrew finished with a drunken giggle.

Thistletail rolled his eyes. "Are you at least keeping an eye on the captives in here?" The squirrel walked up to the modified door of what had once been a tavern room.

The Feldoh's Heirs included some skilled carpenters and craftsbeasts, who had modified some of the many tavern rooms in the district controlled by the Heirs into cells for captured vermin. They had sawed out small windows in the wooden doors,and filled them with wicker screens that let air and light in but were sufficiently well-made so as to prevent vermin from just sticking their arms through. The rooms each held four or five vermin, with alternating groups of males and females. Before the rooms had been used, they had been closely examined for hidden or makeshift weapons, and squirrels had barred the shutters of the windows from the outside.

"Thistletail!" Jothro suddenly clapped a paw on the squirrel's shoulder. "Watch this! Lookit what I got in a trade with one o' the scouts!" The shrew walked up to a crate in a corner. Someone had punched holes in the side, but before Thistletail could ask why, Jothro gave the box a sharp kick.

"Wakey wakey, liddle snakey!" The shrew taunted. Thistletail sighed in annoyance.

"Oh, what are you, a dibbun? I—Gah!" The squirrel jumped practically out of his fur as an irritated voice rang out from the box

"Craven cur, let me loose at once or suffer the wrath of the Dread Wyrm of Evnara!"

Jothro burst into a fit of laughter "Oho, you shoulda seen your face there, mate! One o' the scouts found this snake out in the wilderness. Dunno why he keeps calling himself a worm, but he's a real bucket of laughs."

Thistletail took this opportunity to grab away Jothro's liquor and toss it down the hall. The shrew started to protest but the squirrel held up a paw. "Look, that's quite enough from you. We're not being paid to act like idiots, we're to keep tabs on these vermin. I'm going to go back to my patrol. Can you be trusted to not make a fool of yourself?"

Jothro grumbled a bit more about the lost liquor, but finally acceded. Once the squirrel was out of sight, however, he set about looking for some other form of amusement, complaining to himself about his companion. "Huh. Ole high'n'mighty Thistletail thinks he's better than me 'cause he's from Redwall like Marcion. Iffen Thistletail's so damn smart, why isn't he a captain? Needs to get that stick out from under his ta—" The shrew's complaint trailed off as his eyes fell on the box containing the worm-that-was-actually-a-snake. Congratulating himself for his own cleverness, Jothro walked over to the box and picked it up. "Wanna go for a trip, liddle snakey?"

"When I escape, your spine shall decorate my lair, earthwalker!"

Still carrying the box, Jothro walked over to the door where the females vermin were kept. "Oy, I gots somethin' for you, ladies! It's a present from us Feldoh's Hairs."

Quickly opening the door, he threw the box inside the room, narrowly missing a juvenile vixen, who ducked under it, losing her glasses in the process. The box struck a wall, and rebounded, the lid coming off. Jothro quickly stepped out and re-barred the door, pressing his snout to the wicker window to watch what developed. Who said guard duty had to be boring?

--

Silisk was rather out of sorts.

The serpent, who had previously suffered the indignity of being carted about in a wooden box for 'Gates knows _how_ long, was presently tangled up in her royal cloak. Silisk thrashed about for a moment to free herself, hissing curses all the while until she was in a much more dignified position. It was then that she noticed the door to her cage had been jarred open from when that _brute_ had tossed her. Making a mental note to ensure the painful punishment of the furred barbarian, the snake peeked out of the box and immediately noticed several beasts across from her; vermin and quite formidable and all staring directly at her. _Wonderful._

A quick scan of the room revealed that at least none of the beasts were armed. Although that by itself proved little comfort; two foxes, a pine marten and… well… whatever that strange creature was would have little to no problem crushing her.

For what seemed like a very long moment, snake and earthwalkers stared at each other.

And then the large creature stood up.

"Please!"

The sudden cry of the serpent caused Rea to stop in her tracks, and she went back to staring at the scaly creature, a mixture of revulsion and fascination on her canine features.

Her heart racing, the added tried desperately to think of what was to be said next to avoid her royal personage being crushed into the ground. "I mean you no harm…" _What had the guard said? These ugly beasts are female?_ "… fair maidens. Please, set your fears aside, for I would not think of turning poisoned fang on any one of you."

Silisk flicked her tongue out, beginning to wonder if any of these beasts were capable of doing anything other than staring. It was horribly rude of them.

Finally, one of the females, the pine marten, spoke up. "Why should we trust you?" She asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "What's to stop you from striking when our backs are turned, eh?"

Biting back a sarcastic retort, Silisk merely dipped her head in what she hoped to be a polite gesture. "I have no quarrel with you, only with the foul knave who has sought to forcefully wrest me from my home." She cocked her head. "I can only assume the same misfortune has befallen you as well. Why then, have we reason to bandy threats against each other?"

"He's right, you know." Silisk was about as surprised as any of the other beasts at the taller fox's calm statement. The vixen shrugged. "We should really start thinking of a way to get out, and having a snake as a friend is better than having one as a foe."

_He? He?! How dare that scale-less—_ Silisk clamped down on her venomous thoughts and instead offered as charming a smile as a snake could manage. "Precisely. I knew such intelligent beasts would see sense," she hissed.

The other beasts, however, seemed less than enthused. "Fine," the marten snorted, "but don't come crying to me when it sinks its fangs into you."

That seemed to settle things. Silisk gazed from the marten's incredulous stare to the larger creature's terrified one and flickered her tongue. _A little._

Not that Silisk gave a flip about what some gangly earthwalkers thought of her, of course. Now that her life was not in any immediate danger, the adder wanted as little to do with the rude vermin as possible. She pulled her upper body back inside her crate, rested her head atop her loose coils and sulked. _What a day!_

--

_"Your Majester?"_

Silisk stirred from her position draped lightly over her favorite basking rock. "Yes?" Despite her ever-present glare, the serpent had actually drifted off to sleep watching the birds singing to each other in the trees. She clicked her fangs together reflectively; she did ever so despise them.

The adder pulled her head around in an arc, and the frilled messenger lizard etched a hasty salute with his spear. "Beasts is coming, Mistress! Come from Vermin City. What we do?"

A pleasured hiss rasped at the back of Silisk's throat. "What sort of beasts?"

The previous months had been a curse and a nightmare. Seemingly endless torrents of water poured down unrelentingly, and Silisk had spent many nights curled up miserably in her lair, managing to keep herself warm with a fevered and seething determination.

However, the storm had proved itself to be a hidden blessing. After she and her lizards had just started to recover, the hated vermin began to act strangely indeed. Maddened, beasts of all kinds hurled themselves into the swamps surrounding Evnara and slashed themselves bloody outside the city gates. To the other vermin, they were a danger.

To Silisk, they were an exotic banquet. And a steady source of wealth, to boot.

"Well…" the lizard shuffled his footclaws. "These beasts strange. No lookalike normal verminbeasts. Theyno sick; carry weapon like us."

Silisk took a moment to process this new information. New beasts? She wondered vaguely if they were anywhere near as tasty. "Take the other guards and circle around these new beasts. Follow them and see what they do. I'll be waiting here."

Saluting once more, the lizard scurried off, leaving Silisk alone. The snake laid herself flat atop the smooth slab, her blue-grey scales almost disappearing against the stone.

Silisk watched impassibly as several strange looking creatures, two of which slightly resembled rats, ambled out of the surrounding foliage. Whoever these beasts were, Silisk quickly deduced that they were not used to the wilderness.

"Garn!" A shrew swatted at his arm in irritation. "That's two of those nasty liddle bugs I've caught at me blood today! Vicious little…"

The other beast of the same species, this one taller, rolled its eyes and fixed the first with a scathing gaze. "Oh knock off the whingeing, would you? Should be glad we ain't run into any o' them lizard savages like the first exploration team."

A third beast, a creature with a luxuriously furred and arched tail, scurried up behind the other two. "Caught one, didn't they? Heard the scaly brute gave 'em trouble."

"I suppose we'll know when we gets back," one of the rat-like beasts said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Huh," the other snorted. "That's only iffen we don't get eaten alive first."

"What did I just say?" The complaining rat-creature received an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. "One more whinge outta you and I'm reporting you to the Captain." He used the long-bladed sword in his paw to swat aside some branches. "Now let's get searching. The sooner we find something edible in this beast-forsaken rock, the sooner we can all leave."

Silisk watched the strange creatures with amusement as they bungled about, whippy branches snapping in their faces. None of them seemed to be particularly interested in the hanging vines disguising the entrance to the snake's lair, which suited the royal serpent just fine.

Suddenly, a glint of reflected light caught the snake's eye; it seemed to be coming from a strange something that had been set down on a nearby rock. Silisk wriggled forward ever so slightly, eyes gleaming covetously as she tried to get a better look at the small objects gleaming surface. She knew right away that it was not a gem or jewel, and when she leaned forward to gaze into its surface, she was surprised to see her own fearsome stare gazing back at her.

Silisk was enthralled; never had she seen something like this! It reflected a perfect image of herself in it's crystal clear surface.

"I'm bushed! Can't we go back now? There isn't anything worth spit out here!" As the rat-creature complained, he leaned against Silisk's throne-rock, slapping his paw down for support… right on the adder!

"Cripes 'n bloody 'ellgates!" The rat-like beast nearly leapt a foot in the air as a furious hiss tore itself from Silisk's throat and the snake reared back into a striking position.

Before she could sink her fangs into the clumsy rodent, however, she was grabbed from behind in a forceful grip, her jaw pinched tightly. "Oy! Get a load o' this, Wegraf! Raz almost got hisself bitten by a snake!"

Silisk writhed and wriggled like whipcord, glaring daggers at her captors. Wegraf loped up, leaning down to get a closer look at the reptile. "Corr, you was lucky it didn't get you, Raz! Little beasty's poisonous as anything. Take a good look at his markings! Adder, sure 'nough."

"Ain't you smart?" The tall rat creature slammed Silisk down onto the rock hard enough to wind her. "Well, I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this awful place. This should be more 'n enough to report." He turned back over his shoulder. "Oy, Raz! When yer done cringin', get rid o' this thing and meet us back at the city gates."

Silisk gasped for air in ragged bursts, barely coiled around consciousness. Raz, who looked as if he were about to faint himself, rose to his footpaws. Anger began clouding his features as he reached for his sword. "I'll teach you to scare me like that, little beastie… time to go Hellgates!"

For just a moment, Silisk saw herself reflected in the surface of the blade. She couldn't—wouldn't—let it take her life! A true dragon would never let herself be felled by such means.

"Stop!" She yelled as forcefully as she could… which wasn't very much, all things considered.

It did a wonderful job of halting Raz in his tracks, though.

"Villain!" She wheezed. "Is it not enough that you intrude upon my home, but also that you take my life? You, ser, are nothing but a—"

"Blimey!" The rat-beast's eyes were wide. "It talks!"

The serpent hissed in frustration. "Of course I talk, you insipid—" She was interrupted once more, but this time it was by the pommel of the sword which struck her in the head, dazing her.

Grinning oafishly, Raz grabbed the snake and bundled her up in the cloak that was half-draped over the rock's surface. He couldn't wait to show off his find to the other teams!

--

Silisk's brooding was interrupted by a timid poke to her side. "Er… 'scuse me…"

"Kssa!"

Startled, the serpent's head drew back sharply, and she stared at the scrawny vixen who had stuck her head into the crate. The fox drew her ears back, looking mighty embarrassed.

"Very sorry, mam, and I didn't mean t' bother you, but I was just wonderin' if you've seen me glasses?"

Down went Silisk's jaw. This little vermin earthwalker was actually being… polite? She was almost too stunned to respond.

"Er..w.. glasses, you say?" she asked, regaining her stately composure as quickly as possible.

The vixen nodded. "Oh aye. Lost 'em when your box got throwed in here." She sighed. "Can't see a bloomin' thing without 'em."

"Oh, I know what you mean." Silisk really didn't know what the fox had meant at all, but an idea had already started working itself over in her mind. "It must be terribly hard not to be able to see," she purred, her voice as smooth as glass. The vixen nodded wordlessly.

"I've an idea!" Weaving an intricate pattern in the air, the serpent's head swayed sinuously. "Let me rest on your shoulders, and I will be your eyes, my friend."

The vixen squinched her muzzle up, looking Silisk over. "Well..."

"I promise to keep watch for you glasses," Silisk wheedled, weaving around the fox's paw and gazing at her pleadingly.

The maid laughed in response. "Well, all right, then!" Even before she had finished speaking and straightened up, the snake had already slithered up the vixen's arm and curled comfortably about her shoulders. "My name's Zula, by the way. Zula Higgins."

"And I'm Silisk. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam."

Silisk mentally repeated the mantra she had read many times over: From the tiny egg, the great wyrm grows. Evnara was in ruins, and if the road to escape and eventual power came from befriending a gangly little vixen with glasses, then Silisk would just have to take it.

Zula laughed again. "you're a cute little critter, you are!"

_Cute? Little?_ Silisk let out a sigh. It was going to be a long day…


	9. Bad Wolf

They really were mad, this entire lot of creatures. _'Vermin?' What in Siren's name is _that_ supposed to mean?_ The two otters – thin things that looked as if something had stripped away all their protective coating – and squirrel who half-led, half-dragged Rea through the wrecked streets of a city kept calling her that with a mixture of disgust and awe. They named themselves woodlanders and the dreamsayer tried to explain that she, too, in fact, lived in the woods, but did that matter to the bedraggled little gull droppings?

"Fates, but this one's thick, Tack," the squirrel snorted.

"Aye, Resin. But ye can't blame her, matey." Tack shook his head in mock sympathy. "Vermin get dumber with increasin' size, ye know. Has t'do with the brain stayin' the size o' a chestnut an' the head swellin' up." He turned his attention from the squirrel to the wolf he led by a rope around her neck. "Now, ye jist tell good ole Tack, an' his mates Resinpaw an' Jibe what ye were doin' floatin' near our ships an' we might play nice with ye, uh…" the otter paused, staring at her with confusion evident on his face, "whatever ye are."

"My name is Rea and I'm a wolf," Rea growled indignantly. "And a dreamsayer. How dare you tie me up like this! When my alpha hears about how you've treated me so far…" _Calm down. Calm down, that's not helping,_ she thought reluctantly, reigning in her temper and letting the threat die away. _Remember, say what they want and think what you will. Best way to deal with Grannie. Best way to deal with every other ignorant moron._

"Look," the wolf continued in more measured tones, a mask of quiet contempt settling on her features. "I was near your ships because that's where I rowed to from the _Isolus_. The Kota were kind enough to let me travel with them," _Dull sailors that they are._ "but they didn't want to come too close to shore for all the catastrophes we knew might have befallen this island."

"And why would you know anything about the catastrophes, _if_ you don't have anything to do with this place?" Resinpaw demanded. _That's not a question; it's a howling accusation!_

"I told you," Rea just managed to turn an eye roll into a redirection of her gaze at the squirrel, "I'm a dreamsayer." _You'd think the accolades and apologies would be showering by now. I didn't train for ten seasons just to get trussed up like a gull on Kinane's Feastday!_

"If ye want t'play dumb that's yer own choice," Jibe grumbled. He assisted Tack, leading the wolf by a rope binding her paws. "But quit talkin' nonsense."

"You're the ones talking nonsense!" The dreamsayer lost her poise. "I came to help the creatures inhabiting this island, not deal with idiots who wouldn't know a lemming from a caribou!"

"So you admit it!" Resinpaw pointed an eager paw at her. "You're here to help the other vermin."

"Yes!" Rea snarled, stopping and bringing the otters to a halt with a jerk of resistance. The trio of 'woodlanders' immediately put up their guard, Resinpaw reaching for an axe at his side. "If that's who lives here. Do I have to spell it out for you, Pine-resin-for-brains?"

The squirrel and wolf glared at each other until finally, the smaller creature looked away. "She's not right in the head, lads. We'll get nothing out of her like this." A smirk crept across his face as he added, "Anyway, I don't think I like that crazy tongue of hers…or those teeth. Let's fix them."

---

A muzzle. _A muzzle!_ Of all the humiliations suffered so far, this was by far the worst. _They didn't even untie me!_ the dreamsayer shouted in her head as she was shoved unceremoniously into a dark room, a low growl emanating from her chest. _Howling egg-brained, dry-nosed, tundra-eating…_ After a few moments of screaming obscenities in her head, she turned her yellow gaze sharply to the other prisoners who seemed to take a collective step back. _Oh, for the love of Siren._

She ignored the two foxes and weasel-thing and worked at freeing herself from her bonds, taking little notice of her surroundings outside the fact that they smelled like dust and rotting vegetables. But no sooner had she removed the muzzle and ropes than the door opened and a very vocal crate was tossed in by a lemming-like creature. Curious as to the contents of the box, the wolf watched it carefully until its seething occupant slithered out. _What's that thi–!_

Rea stood so abruptly that she nearly toppled over, tripping on her own footpaws. Ears flat along her skull, tail between her legs, and teeth bared in the hopes that whatever the Nightmare that thing was would leave her alone, the terrified wolf backed up, still facing the thing. Her paw flew to her right cheek where no fur grew, only an ugly, uneven patch of pink-red skin.

_Scales._ The thing looked like a cross between a tree limb and a thick rope with eyes. But those scales! She was about to make short work of the nearest wall to effect her escape – the water damage surely wouldn't hold up to her claws – when the monster called out to her.

"Please!" The wolf felt herself go rigid, legs no longer responding to her urgent signal to run as far away as physically possible.

_The hawk's body crashed into her, throwing her tiny frame into the hard-packed snow. "Rea!" a nearby wolf, slate gray in color, screamed, trying to pull the avian off as it raked its talons across her face. Its yellow eyes were hungry and its gaping maw spewed hot spit in her face. "Get off of her!" Leandre, her older cousin, clamped his jaws onto the bird's thigh and tried dragging his own claws through its feathers._

Blood, not all of it her own, obscured Rea's vision so that the only distinct parts of the hawk were its face and legs. "Arrrooo!" She howled at and with the bird as its talons ripped out chunks of her flesh. Terror and pain tore any sort of sense a five-seasons-old pup could have from her as she kicked and bit and punched, all the while shrieking. "Leandre! Please! Save me! Please!"

The dreamsayer could recall every detail of the hawk's features down to the cracks in its hooked beak, but what she remembered most of all were the talons. And the scales.

The slithering thing began trying to reason with them, and the others in the room responded to it as if they knew what it was and recognized it as a danger. Well good. At least they were all on the same page and…and why the Nightmare were they listening to it? Accepting it? Not killing it! _Stop! Stop it now!_ Rea did her best to gulp down a yelp and focus on what the weasel-thing had just said. Escape was good thing. Escape and go…where?

The Kota had proved decidedly unhelpful, informing her only that the island they had reached, as per the vague directions offered by Grannie Lightbringer, was called Evnara. If she wanted to complete the mission with which the elder dreamsayer had tasked her, Rea realized that she needed more information and that meant talking to her fellow prisoners. Her eyes wandered across them and she immediately ruled out the small fox that currently played host to the scaled monster about her neck. That left the weasel-thing and the other fox.

"You're hurt." The words escaped before the wolf could halt them. Staring at the pair of creatures, trying to decide which to approach first, she finally noted the bandages on the mustelid's shoulder. A smear of pink colored the back of the otherwise white cloth and Rea instinctively reached for her pouches of herbs. Of course, they weren't there. The stupid creatures who'd captured her so rudely had stolen them along with her pack. She ignored the inconvenience and began edging along the wall, keeping a close eye on the little vixen and her…'friend.' Rea tried approaching the weasel-thing, reaching out toward her shoulder. "How did that hap–?"

"None of your business," the black-clad female cut her off, backing away with her ears pointing forward aggressively. "Don't come near me."

"I was only trying to help." Rea felt her hackles rise in response. "What's your problem?"

"Woodlanders locking me up," the mustelid replied shortly. "What's yours?"

"Moronic beasts who don't know what's in their best interest," the wolf snapped back and turned to stalk away before recalling that her new cell was only about five strides long. Not exactly the dramatic exit she'd hoped for after such an outrageous reaction to an offer for help. Muttering to herself about the idiocy of all creatures outside the Circle, she turned to her only other viable option.

"Do you know what in Siren's name is going on here?" Rea demanded of the older fox without preamble, stepping up to her and carefully sidling around so that the smaller creature was between herself and the scaled beast.

"I beg your pardon?" the vixen blinked. "Do you think you could narrow that question down?"

"I mean, what's been happening?" Relieved that this one wasn't being so reticent, the wolf let the bark fade from her voice. Now the confusion and fear returned in force. "I was sent here by my pack to deal with the catastrophes – the storm, and the plague that drives creatures mad. Those have happened, right? But when I arrived, three beasts tied me up, calling me a 'vermin,' and threw me in here." _Wherever 'here' happens to be._ "What's a vermin? They wouldn't tell me! It must be something bad." She looked over the fox to the little vixen and her companion and whispered conspiratorially, "Is that scaled thing a vermin?"

"My name is Pearl," the vixen replied.

"Eh?" It took a moment for the wolf to realize that the fox was introducing herself. "Oh, yes. I'm Rea, a dreamsayer of the Lightbringer pack. When I tell my alpha about what these beasts are doing on this island, you can bet…" She trailed off, the paw she had raised in rightful indignation falling slowly to her side. She realized that she was rambling and had no idea what the otters and squirrel who had captured her _were_ doing here. "Eh…" her voice sounded smaller as the realization that she was almost completely ignorant in this situation dawned on her.

Pearl smiled in a disarming way. "As I said. It's best we all just calm down. You're obviously confused and the hostility of certain creatures in the room," she allowed the tiniest hint of disapproval to enter her otherwise placid voice, "isn't helping." _Hmph! I'll howl to that!_ "Now, you asked what's been happening, but you already know, which is strange because you don't seem to come from this place." _Well, aren't you the clever little thing? Stop that. She's trying to help, at least._ "The storm came, then Martin's Madness, and now these woodlanders–"

"Woodlanders!" Rea interjected, wagging her tail like a pup, excited by the familiar word. "They said that, too. That they were 'woodlanders.'"

"Yes," the vixen continued, a brief smile lighting her face. "They call themselves Felldoh's Heirs and have come for some purpose. I don't know what it is. They started out just watching, but then they…took my kit…"

"They stole your kit?" Rea asked incredulously. "Why?"

"I-I don't know," Pearl faltered. "In any case, vermin are all creatures that are not woodlanders. Stoats, weasels, foxes, rats, snakes like that scaled creature there–"

"Pine martens," the wounded female added. "Woodlanders are rich, well-fed snobs. That's all you need to know."

"Huh! 'Snobs' my backside," the voice of the lemming-thing chittered from the door. "Yer lucky we're nice enough t'put you up in proper rooms rather than those dungeons you have for yer own kind. Ungrateful, that's what vermin are. Ungrateful, rude, an' boring. You lot're about as dull as wax arrowheads. Throw a snake in an' you jist talk an' talk!" Before the prisoners could respond, they heard the patter of the guard's footpaws as he scuttled away to more 'interesting' pursuits.

"They also like to stick their noses into other creatures' business," the marten sneered quietly.

"And abduct innocent travelers!" a muffled voice growled from the wall to the left of the door. It wasn't very loud, but deep enough to be distinct.

The females exchanged looks before approaching the source of the voice. "Hello. Who's there?" Rea asked, pressing an ear against the wall.

A long pause. "…You can hear me?" _He's a _clever_ one,_ Rea thought, rolling her eyes, but keeping her comments to herself. This was a chance to gain more creatures. Greater numbers meant more minds. More minds, even ill-equipped ones, meant more ideas. And more ideas meant a better chance of escape.

"Only just," Pearl remarked when the wolf did not reply. Rea had forgotten about the wall when she caught sight of the little vixen and snake in the corner of her eye. She edged away and let the older fox take over, trying to reason with herself and keep her heartbeat under control. _This is not a bird. It's a snake. It has scales, but no claws. It's tiny. It can't hurt me. It _can't_ hurt me._ "Is there some way to break this wall a bit?" the vixen asked.

"Uh…probably."

Both sides went to work looking for weaknesses, the dreamsayer maintaining a 'safe' distance from the little fox. _No task is too great for many paws,_ the old saying went. Rea just hoped that these paws would help her. What they would help with she had no idea. Ambiguous didn't even begin to cover Cayenne's instructions to her young apprentice. But Rea had to do something. Anything to stop the dreams that were coming more frequently…and vividly.


	10. Walls

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 8. Walls**

_by Zula_

"Zula."

The voice was stern, with hardly a trace of its usual lilt. The young vixen did not look up at her mother, deciding instead to twist the hem of her skirt in her grimy claws.

"Yes, Mam?" she asked quietly.

Nelda Higgins planted herself in front of Zula. Zula stared at the meticulously pedicured footpaws before her.

"I gave you a job, Zula."

"I know, Mam, an' I..."

A sharp claw lifted her chin none-too-gently until Zula was staring into her mother's livid face. It was remarkable how clean she kept her fur, and how desperately she tried to hold on to her fading looks. Zula had never quite understood that about her mother, though it was but one of many things.

"Are you listening to me, Child?" Nelda's eyes narrowed.

"Erm. Yes."

She hadn't been.

"What was I just sayin' to you, then?"

"Er...what a bad job I've done?" It was never that hard to guess.

"Exactly," her mother spat. "Sure an' I give you an ounce of responsibility and you can't even handle that! I swear, you're an absolute nightmare."

Zula gulped somewhat painfully around the claw pressed against the underside of her muzzle. "Please, Mam, I'm not tryin' t' disappoint you, I'm not. It's just that, well, I don't find what you do t' be...t' be all that...interestin'..."

Nelda's glare became icier with every word her daughter spoke, until the younger vixen lost her nerve entirely and trailed off. The ice in Zula's mother's stare was nothing compared to the venom in her voice when next she spoke.

"You are my daughter, you hear me? You are mine! It's not a matter of wanting to, it's a matter of being able to eat! If you hadn't noticed, Child, food is much harder to come by these days. Do you think Carlotta, the other vixens and myself are with even half the slobs we serve because we _want_ to be? This is our lot in life, it's just what we're meant to do, and now with the woodlanders around it's harder than ever to find any business. _Blast it to hellgates, now you've made me keep a customer waiting!_"

The knocking had started, soft at first but escalating to a desperate pounding during Nelda's speech. The vixen tore her claw away, ignoring Zula's little squeak of pain as she broke skin. Zula watched her mother storm out, leaving her standing alone in Nelda's bedroom and surrounded by all sorts of disgusting silk sheets and cushions and various questionable objects that, had Zula not already known their true purpose, may have piqued her insatiable curiosity.

And now her glasses were gone.

Well, first the woodlanders had poured in when her mother answered the door, binding the scarlet females and dragging them out into the street with angry cries. And then, a big beast had barged right into Nelda's room. He had tiny little ears and an enormously thick tail, and Zula _thought_ he was called an otty or something like that. She'd never seen one up close before, because her mother had never allowed them in.

"Here, girl," the otty had said kindly. "I'm going to save you from all of this, okay?"

Save her? Well, now, that sounded just dandy. Her mother certainly wouldn't miss her, and Zula wouldn't have to keep making a mess of everything there.

"Okay," Zula had replied, taking his paw and letting him lead her out of the brothel, past the pile of matchwood that had once been the front door. The sign had fallen into the street, its brazen letters which spelled out The Golden Brush now covered in all manner of dirty pawprints as the woodlanders tromped across it. There had been lots of otties, fat beasts that looked like pincushions, tiny rats, and slightly bigger rats with the fluffiest tails Zula had ever seen. They were all talking to each other in low voices as they turfed Nelda, Carlotta, and the other vixens on the ground in a line and kept their weapons fixed on them.

"The brothels should've been the first priority," a tiny rat had said.

"Aye," a walking pincushion agreed.

"This way," the otty had said to Zula, leading her away down the street to an old tavern.

"You seem like a nice otty, sir," Zula said, smiling.

He laughed. "That's 'otter,' actually, but thank you. You're not bad yourself."

"Ah, me humblest apologies, sir. Mother never let otters in the house afore. Dunno why, if they're all nice like you."

The otter thought for a moment. "Yeah, sure."

He pushed the tavern door open and Zula felt herself immediately hauled away by a pair of strong paws that poked and prodded her all over. One of the rats with an enormous tail searched her for something, reached for her green vest and began to tug at it.

"Me vest! Not me vest!" Zula howled, squirming and kicking.

"Jurven, that's enough, she's just a child!"

"A _child_, Gericault?" the brush-tailed beast spat. "She's a vermin! You don't know the kind of things she could be hiding. Did you find her in that brothel?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Gericault sniffed. "But she's harmless, I swear."

"Well, your head be on it, streamdog," Jurven growled, marching stiffly away.

"Now Miss," Gericault said. "I'm going to have you wait in a room for a while. Er, you've got plenty of new friends waiting for you there."

"Okay, providin' it's not a long wait, sir," Zula said, instinctively clutching her oversized vest to herself as she was led into a dimly lit hallway and shut into a room with a few other beasts. She waved, but none of them waved back. Some friends they were.

Slowly the room filled, until Ms. Pearl, a marten, and a wolf inhabited it with her. And, of course, the snake. When the box got thrown in, Zula had to duck to avoid getting beaned in the head.

And that was when she lost her glasses.

Everyone shrank back from the snake, but Zula, on the pretense of asking where her glasses were, moved in for a closer look. The beast's scales rippled and undulated with every movement, the swirling, scaly patterns mesmerizing the young vixen. It was the most interesting beast she'd ever laid eyes on. She let the snake up onto her shoulders, giggling with glee as the rough scales met her fur.

"You're a cute little critter, you are!" she laughed. "Look, everyone!"

She took a step forward and there were several cries of alarm.

"What, Silisk? She won't hurt you! She's just a little snakey!"

"Stay away from me," the wolf growled.

"Oh. All right then."

Zula stayed where she was, watching Rea and the others as they began to have a conversation with the beasts in the next room. Then they started looking for a weak spot or something (she'd been too busy staring at Silisk's flicking tail to really pay attention). Eventually she looked up again, and that's when she saw it.

There was a dark, blurry line running down the wall about halfway across. The adolescent vulpine was drawn instinctively toward it to catch a better glimpse, ignoring the gasps of alarm as the others backed off, abandoning their search to get away from her scaly passenger. Zula poked the dark spot cautiously with a claw. Wood fibers peeled away. Grinning, the vixen reached into an inner vest pocket and extracted her favorite knife. It was small, but she kept it nice and sharp. Without hesitation the fox plunged it deep into the wall.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" a voice growled.

Zula turned to find the wolf glaring at her.

"Mam?"

"I asked you what in Siren's name you're doing," she huffed.

"Oh, this wall, see, it's got water damage it does," she explained. "Heard some voices on th' other side and thought I'd use me knife to..."

"You brought a knife? How did you sneak that in?" the marten wondered.

Zula shrugged.

"Let's not announce it to the whole world, shall we?" Ms. Pearl cautioned.

"Just move, all right?"

Zula tugged the knife free and dodged aside as the wolf hurried forward.

"Are you thick or just that oblivious? Of course there are voices, but a tiny little knife like that isn't going to do us any good."

The canine's claws went to work, tearing at the wall. Silisk slithered down Zula's body to the floor to avoid the damp scraps of wood that flew everywhere.

The marten appeared at Zula's side, holding out something to her in her paw.

"Me glasses!" she squeaked, taking them from her and putting them on, smiling as the world came back into focus. "I can't be thankin' you enough, mam."

"Oh, don't worry about it. My name's Sybil, by the way."

"Sybil? That's a pretty name," Zula said.

"Why, thank you!" the marten grinned. "Say, that's a fine blade you've got on you. Could I borrow that for a while?"

Zula's face fell. "Oh, no, sorry, mam, but this is me own special knife. I already lost me glasses an' I'm sure I don't know what I'd do without me knife."

_CRUNCH._

The wolf's fist had sunk clear through the wall. She yanked it out with a grunt and peered in the sizable hole she'd made.

"Hello?" she called softly.


	11. Play the Game

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 9. Play the Game**

_by Antonio_

The stoat kept his gazed fixed, scrutinizing each detail. Surely, it must be as he thought, and yet, why would there be such a thing here; was not an officer expected to take more care? But all evidence stated otherwise. As his head leaned slightly to his left, his pupils continued to slide down its frame, noting the position of the corners, the sides, the center. Surely it was a trick of the light or, _some_thing.

A door opened; somebeast padded across the room. "Mister Calceterre?" said a voice with the distinct air of a hare. "I would like to ask you some questions."

Antonio's eyes shut in resignation. It was exactly as he thought - the picture was crooked. Now he'd have to stare at it while the hare interrogated him.

Futilely trying to will the picture straight, the stoat sat as the hare leafed through a sizable bundle of parchment. His attention was diverted momentarily by the unintelligible scrawl splattered across the notes. If the hare in fact was an officer, he couldn't have been a very good one, not if he went around relying upon notes that only the most sharp eyed cryptologist could decipher.

The hare waited the typical amount of dramatic beats before he said anything, shuffling the papers about. After clearing his throat, the hare said, "Antonio Calceterre, age twenty-four, stoat, of average height for his species –"

"I am quite aware of what I look like and what I am, sir," said Antonio. "Now, you said you had some questions that were perhaps more…pertinent?"

The hare paused a moment, his eyes betraying nothing. _So,_ thought Antonio, _the game begins_. One fluid motion of his paw and the hare was clutching a quill, Antonio's quill to be sure. The stoat flinched inwardly but took care for the gesture to remain as such, even as the hare loaded the instrument with far too much ink and pressed it to the parchment with excessive force.

"Where is it you hail from, Mister Calceterre?"

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "But sir, is that information not contained within your extensive notes? No? Very well then. I was sent as part of a team paw-chosen by the Emperor to survey Evnara and the city of Evnakt, review their assets, set up trade negotiations: the typical processes," he drawled.

"And from what Empire do you hail?"

"Northward." He smiled. "I am afraid I cannot be very descriptive, you see. As our Empire is currently at war, I am not allowed to divulge any information that might compromise our security."

_That and I do not like you very much, what with your dirty tunic and the barely sewn together hole-ridden pieces of cloth you call breaches._ A good leader should look the part.

The stoat leaned back in his chair, paws folded behind his head. "And where, pray tell, do you hail from?"

"Mossflower Wood," said the hare absentmindedly. "How were you captured?"

"Surely a captain would know even the most basic of comings and goings under his command?"

The hare smiled, but Antonio could see some strain in it. "A formality. We are to record as much as we can. Not keeping strict records in a situation such as this could lead to accidents, wot?"

"Ah yes, caution is a virtue." _A shame my previous company didn't realize that,_ he added internally. Antonio took a deep breath, forcing himself to relive that humiliating moment.

"Very well, as I do not wish to disrupt your processes, because goodness knows you're running such an efficient system here…"

*~*

They had made it to Evnara before the storm broke, although perhaps it would have been better had they not. Antonio did not posses the kind of suicidal mind that believed it would have been better to have been scuttled in the squall – all of those minds were now dead. Yet, Antonio would have appreciated being blown off course at least, rather than landing on the rock just in time for the chaos. And now it seemed as though the months before had only been a prelude to more disharmony.

"I seens 'em 'round the edges of the block," grumbled a crewrat to all who would listen.

Antonio did not pay him much heed. There was no use worrying about something over which you had no control.

After reporting, the crewbeast shuffled back to the barricade stacked in front of the main door. So far, it had kept the marties and thieves alike at bay and, even though it often pained Antonio to look at it, he had to admit it was a reliable fortification, if un-elegant.

Currently, the stoat had taken a seat in the back corner of the cottage in which they ten had taken refuge. He had lost his notes in the storm and the rush to escape the quarantined block of the city. _Oh my, the Emperor will be quite upset to hear that his previous documents have become lost,_ thought Antonio sarcastically. He knew, though, that the Emperor would be more upset to know that he had survived the storm. There was no way the Emperor could have predicted the disaster, but it was obvious that he had not been dispatched with the other beasts in the hopes that he would return home.

Antonio gave a brief sigh and leaned back in his chair. How long had the General – his _Excellency_, been trying to cheat him out of his birthright? Four seasons? Eight? Each time the plots' creativeness waned until, as an obvious last-ditch effort, he had been shipped off with the expedition to Evnara, undoubtedly in the hopes that one of the corsairs would kill him, or that the ship would hit a rogue reef and sink or that a shark would randomly attack the vessel. The Emperor was growing feeble, as were his schemes. Antonio smiled at that. After he escaped this island, there would be nothing to prevent him from taking what was his.

"Rations."

Antonio felt something bounce off his thigh. Bending down to pick it off of the floor, he retrieved the hardtack, gave a nod of thanks to the crewbeast and tentatively nibbled the edge. The call of, "Rations," echoed eight more times before interrupted by a sound.

It was a small sound to be sure, but distinctive, clearly not the typical ambiance of the house creaking or the screams of pain they had grown used to hearing from outside, but a tiny, intentional crash, a bottle hitting against the main entrance and shattering. The less intuitive beasts mulled about their business but Antonio and the rest of the intelligent survivors gave the door full attention. Somebeast reached for their sword; Antonio echoed this by grasping his quill.

Fire erupted in a gurgling crescendo outside the door and the flames soon crawled in, lapping hungrily at the barricade. The cabin's entire population was now active, albeit uncoordinated, some running about in search of something to douse the flames apart from the meager remaining water supply, others throwing themselves bodily at the barred windows. Antonio stood up, grasped the chair behind him with his quill held like a dagger in front.

The barricade finally gave way, revealing a small rabble of silhouettes framed by the red embers dancing about where the door had been. Swords were drawn on both sides. Antonio kept still. Keep your head down, that's how the game is played.

The first three beasts to charge the attackers met with mixed success; around two scored hits that elicited gurgling sighs from the silhouettes before they themselves fell, the rest died instantly. Then half of the men attempting to cave the boarded windows gave up their futile task and charged, meeting similar results. The silhouettes advanced on the stoat. Antonio stayed where he was. The herd had been thinned.

The stoat's paw came around, hefting the chair against the front runner, then tossing the remnants at the mob behind. His eyes sought an escape route, but before he could find one Antonio was enclosed by the hodge-podge militia. Up close, he could discern woodlander features on each dirt-and-ash-ridden face, telling him that that the island's new visitors had finally come to say hello. He checked his peripheral vision to see if the ferret who had drawn his sword earlier was still there.

"Gentleman." He nodded. "I am Antonio Calceterre of Harwood. Those beasts you murdered not a moment ago were mere peons. I fear, though, that I shall be a bit of a more challenging foe to you amateurs."

He extended his arm towards the remaining crewbeast and snapped his claws. Where he expected to feel the pressure of a sword hilt, though, his palm was met with empty air. Grimacing, he repeated the gesture several times, each to no avail, until, finally, he shouted to the simpleton, "Sword!" before turning to find naught but an empty space and a caved-in window to his immediate right. Begrudgingly he put up his paws, dropping his quill.

"I reluctantly surrender."

Keep your head down, that's how the game is played.

"I say, not good form for a comrade to run out on you, wot?"

Antonio shrugged. "One may argue that it is 'not good form' to mob a harmless group of castaways, Captain."

The stoat could read that same strain creeping its way into the hare's smile. "It's Sergeant, Mr. Calceterre." The hare changed his tact, "I assume you've read the posters strewn about the city?"

"Yes, although I would advise you to perhaps ask them that own the breweries and wine cellars around Evnakt. I, for one, have never been that much of an avid consumer of alcohol."

_And this Red Brandy of yours certainly sounds as though it is quite far out of your price range, you unkempt oaf._

"Very well." the hare nodded to the guards standing at the door.

Antonio remained fast to his seat. "I do, however, know that you are a stranger in a strange land. I have been here much longer than you have and, while I confess I do not know the whereabouts of your sought after beverage, I would not at all be adverse to relaying any information I have acquired…or possibly will acquire during my captivation."

The hare had already turned his back to Antonio, revealing a few unsightly stains in the process. "We are not in the business of compromising with the enemy," he said without turning.

"But of course; I do not expect any compensation, at least not immediately. I would not want to you strain yourself in attempting to devise a fitting prize for information, but the offer still stands, sir."

Without a word extra Antonio was issued out the door and down the stair to the cells. He concealed the look of disgust he felt creeping in at the edges of his face in reaction to the stench that grew with each step. It did not take much longer for the stoat to discover that the holding cells sported the same tumble-down motif as the rest of the post-storm town. Indeed, his stay was going to be quite a long one.

After the door shut behind him, Antonio waited precisely twenty-five seconds span before turning to take stock of his cell mates. At one end sat a beast massive enough to rival the girt of a badger, possessing a blank expression and clad in a few pitiful rags that at least satisfied their goal in covering the creatures more private features. At the other end of the cell and size-spectrum was a large rat, this one wearing a more upset expression as well as slightly better maintained clothing and appearances, though not by much.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them.

Antonio looked at the floor and, thinking better of it, dragged a crate over to his side of the cell upon which to sit.

"Antonio Calceterre, at your service. It seems that as we are both in the same unsavory situation, it would be best if we got to know each other more intimately."

The less-filthy rat answered first. "Brull. Well, _Sheriff_ Brull, at least until I wound up on this forsaken rock. Ranks don't do much good here."

The rat was a lawbeast, meaning that he probably possessed solid deductive reasoning and physical prowess, although, judging by his bulk, it was probably more the former than the latter.

The large and, Antonio now noticed, slightly musky beast followed Brull's example. "I'm Aras." He did not add to it.

A large, quiet beast of unknown origin; he would be an asset as far as strength was concerned, although when it came to brains, it was perhaps best to look elsewhere.

Antonio nodded. "A pleasure to meet you both."

It really wasn't, to be sure. But Antonio was trapped now, and when you were alone, forced into a small, disheveled room with two unfamiliar – and unwashed – beasts, you needed to take stock of your resources.

"Tell me…Sheriff" he addressed Brull, "Do you have any idea as to the nature of the woodlander occupation?"

The rat shrugged and scratched the side of his face. "Don't much know myself. I was just sent here as a request for aide. I was supposed to keep the peace but by the time I got here there wasn't much of it to be had. I can barely remember how I was captured, though I'm sure it was painful, judging by the way my head hurts right now."

"And what of this elusive Red Brandy? Any idea as to what that is?"

Brull didn't answer right away. Antonio supposed that his direct manner had perhaps put the rat on the defensive. "Don't know about that either, though it certainly seems like it's really important; can't look two feet in this place without seeing posters about it.

"And abduct innocent travelers!" Aras muttered loud enough for them to hear.

The stoat and rat alike turned a perplexed eye toward their larger counterpart.

"What are you –"

"Hello. Who's there?" said somebeast from beyond the left wall.

Wide eyed, Aras looked at the rat and stoat and then back to the wall.

"You can hear me?"

"Only just." continued the muted voices behind the wall.

Antonio jumped to his feet and rolled back his sleeves. "Quickly, is there anything with which we can make penetrate the wall?"

Brull was wary to obey but soon began to scan about the cell while Aras simply knelt by the wall and attempted prodding at it with his claws in order to puncture it. "I think there might be a broken bottle lying around that we could use," said Aras.

"Don't think they'd be stupid enough to leave us with a weapon," said Brull.

Aras snorted derisively while continuing to prod the wall. "You'd think that, wouldn't you, but there woodlanders can be pretty stupid."

Antonio joined the search and was considering prizing a timber from his seat crate when the scraping at the other side of the wall ended in a sudden _boonk_ as a fist broke through the bottom of the wall.

"Hello?"

"Hi, there." said Aras.

Gingerly, Antonio lowered himself onto his knees and crawled towards the hole.  
"Greetings," said the stoat. "I am Antonio Calceterre; this is Sheriff Brull and Aras. Who might you all be?"

They sounded off one by one: "I'm Rea."

"Pearl. Pleased to meecha, darlings."

"…Sybil."

"Zula Higgins, I am."

"Silisk."

Five females on the other side of the wall. That meant there were five more allies he could use. Something about that last voice, though, was a bit strange.

"They captured you, too?" said Aras.

_Brilliant deduction, my friend!_

There was a chorus of "yes" to answer this question, accompanied by little individual embellishments here and there of, "And they took my kit, too," "For no reason at all," and, from more than voice, "stupid woodlanders!"

"Ladies," he attempted to quell the growing noise. "As much as I would love to become more closely acquainted with the lot of you, we must make haste; have you all any plans as to how we might escape? Think, now, we managed to make a hole in this wall, so perhaps there is another section of this building damaged or rotted enough to break through."

The voices began to discuss tactics.

"Well, I didn't see anything else…"

"Maybe we could push through the wall and group together?"

"Won't work. There's no way to make that hole bigger and nobeast could fit through that."

"…maybe Silisk –"

Antonio put up a paw for silence and, when he realized that the beasts within the opposite cell would not be able to see, rapped on the door for attention.

"They are coming again. Quick, conceal the hole."

Amidst the quiet shuffling on the other side of the wall, the stoat slid his sitting crate over to the small opening and sat down upon it, facing his two fellow captives and appearing to all the world as though holding a pleasant conversation with them when the steps out in the hall ended with the rattling open of the door. An otter and…something else stood at the threshold.

"What iz thiz? My frriendz iz not herre!" the thing said. "You zay you iz honorable, but you iz no more zo t'an ztinking verminbeasts!"

The otter responded as per typical irate woodlander, "Don' compare me t' those scum! Jest get in there!"

With a kick, a fourth body was thrown into the cell, this one larger than both Brull and Antonio but shorter than Aras. It's scaled body scraped audibly against the ground as it pulled itself up to stare at the captives.

Aras stayed silent; Brull coughed nervously. The calm smile on Antonio's features remained unshaken.

"Greetings, sir. I am Antonio Calceterre; who might you be?"


	12. Descent

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 10. Descent**

_by Rekkua  
_

The gold pine had been torn up by the roots, smashing several smaller trees and leaving a huge crater in the earth. Rekkua strode along the fallen trunk, inspecting it. _Truly the ancestors provide! They must be as eager as I to rebuild the clan hall!_

She sadly thought about Clan Jahk's beautiful hall now reduced to shambles by the storm. It was not the loss of the hall, itself, that Rekkua mourned, but rather the lore and history of her tribe that had been contained within it – all taken by the storm.

Rekkua thumped her spear butt against the sturdy trunk. _But now with this we can start rebuilding…_

The underbrush rustled.

"Who's there?" She crouched low among the branches of the pine. "Show yourself!"

The rustling grew louder, and Rekkua gripped her spear. _It would be just like Clan Vai to attack now when we are at our weakest!_ A branch snapped. She flicked her tongue a few times, urgently trying to catch the creature's scent, but it was downwind, and all she could taste was trees and earth. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to hurl her spear. "Show yourself!"

A patch of tall ferns bent, and a gaunt rat staggered out. His fur was matted with dirt and blood, and his clothing hung in filthy rags. "I won't hurt ye!" he gasped in the mammal's language; then in the language of the Varan: "_No harm!_" He didn't look like a threat; he hardly looked as though he could stand.

Rekkua lowered her spear, but only slightly. "Why arre you on Clan Jahk land, rrat?"

"Rekkua! Yer Rekkua, aren't ye?" He steadied himself against a root and turned pleading eyes on the lizard. "Don't ye remember me? Colbarr! I'm Colbarr Limley!"

Rekkua blinked in recognition. The bones of the face were right, and he was the same height and color as the trader who showed up every few months, but when she'd last seen Colbarr, he'd been a plump, cheerful rat in a ruffled silk shirt. He'd had immaculate fur and jewels on his paws. The rat teetered and collapsed to the ground.

"Colbarr!" She dropped off the trunk and immediately took a step away. A vile taste of rotten blood and vegetation and weeks-unwashed rat wafted past. Her snout pulled back in disgust. "What thiz? We go to village! Can you walk? What iz happened?" Keeping her tongue firmly in her mouth, she knelt down beside the rat.

A grimy paw scrabbled at Rekkua's leg. "Are ye safe, Rekkua? Is Clan Jahk…what 'appened to Clan Jahk?"

"Clan Jahk iz zafe, but…!"

Colbarr let out a long sigh. "Safe! Thank th' fates! I thought…when th' city…but yer safe!"

"Yez yez, we zafe, Colbarr, but what iz happened to _you_?"

"Rekkua, th' storm 'appened! Smashed 'alf the city!"

It took Rekkua a moment to understand that. The city, built from rock and stone, built to tower above the trees, had seemed indestructible. It had changed their world forever, and yet it was destroyed by a storm? So the furbeasts were not invincible!

She thought of how many must have been killed. Stone buildings toppling, crushing hundreds of furbeasts, hundreds of those _Zattaka_ now rotting in the sun. A delicious satisfaction welled up in her. "Colbarr." She tried to keep her voice from shaking, tried to keep her hopes from rising. "Arre you…lazt one living?"

The rat blinked. "Oh no, no no no. Not at all. Th' city might well survive this. But…we thought we were puttin' everythin' back t'gether, an' then…" His eyes widened and stared straight ahead. "Th' mouse demon! We thought we were safe 'ere, thought 'e wouldn' care 'bout us! But 'e…'e came…" His voice wobbled. "'E drives ye mad! 'E drove me mad fer days! Days! They put me in chains, an' creatures were tearin' each other apart an' I couldn't tell what was real an' what was in m'head an'…an' I made it through. I made it through. Martin couldn't get me." He looked at Rekkua in wonderment. "But 'e doesn't take lizards. 'E don't take lizards. Yer safe, an' I'm not mad anymore. Not mad…not…"

Colbarr's babbling trailed off as his eyes fluttered closed. He slumped over in Rekkua's arms, and, within seconds, was snoring softly.

Rekkua stared at the rodent, mouth set in a grim line. She didn't understand half the things he had said, but Colbarr was an old friend of Clan Jahk. He had always treated them as equals – never as savages. Not once had he tried to cheat or take advantage of them. "Don't worry. Clan Jahk will look after you. You are safe now."

"…please, Evnakt needs help of Clan Jahk." In halting Varan, Colbarr finished relating his sad tale in a much more coherent manner. He was still exhausted, and his tail kept jerking and twitching, but after a scrubbing, he at least no longer tasted of nauseating things.

The gathered Clan Jahk muttered back and forth, debating amongst themselves for several minutes. When one monitor turned to ask Colbarr a question, it was realized the rat had again drifted off to sleep.

Rekkua stepped into the lull that followed. "Clan Jahk!" She spread her arms wide in supplication. "It is obvious what we must do. The fates are kind to us. We must act now to wipe away the furbeasts from our island for all time!"

"No!" It was Zavak, a respected member of the clan. Rekkua hissed in distaste; if it were up to Zavak, all the Varan would go and live in cities, wearing useless fabric over their scales. "The furbeasts have not all been kind to us, but they are not all evil. There are many who treat us as well as Colbarr does."

Rekkua glared at Zavak. "Would you have us lick the tails of all furbeasts for the sake of a few of them?"

"Enough!" Both Rekkua and Zavak fell instantly silent at their chief's commanding voice. "Colbarr is tired and his tongue wags much. We must send a scouting party to discover if he speaks the truth. Speak to Nakat or whoever is now in charge. If they need help, we help. Who will go?"

Rekkua leapt forward instantly. "I will go!" If someone was going to have the chance to put the furbeasts in their place, she wanted it to be her.

"And I." Rekkua looked at her brother, who smiled.

"And I."

Rekkua scowled at Zavak, but had no chance to argue.

"The three are chosen. May the ancestors go with you and keep your claws sharp."

The city was as awful as Rekkua had hoped. The three Jahk warriors spent more time climbing over heaps of rubble than they did walking, and Rekkua took particular pleasure in tasting the air full of rotting meat, savoring it like a roasting fish.

There was a fox curled up beside the road, shaking and shivering, large gouges through her flesh.

Rekkua strode past her, but Kiaza stopped beside the poor creature. "I am frriend. I help?" He set aside his spear and knelt.

The vixen raised her head. Her eyes were wide and unfocussed, the slit pupils dilated to pools of black.

Rekkua watched, unease creeping through her. Something about the _Zattaka_ wasn't right. "Wait…"

The fox screamed and lunged with teeth bared.

Kiaza let out a cry and stumbled backwards, arm up to protect his face.

"No!" Rekkua charged, spear thrust forward, but before she could make contact, the fox crumpled to the ground, neck spilling crimson. Rekkua stopped short and blinked.

Zavak's bloody knife glistened in the sunlight. "You okay, Kiaza?"

Kiaza stood up, licking his right arm. "The furbeast scratched my arm, but I'm fine."

Rekkua prodded at the corpse with distaste. "Looks like Colbarr wasn't exaggerating."

They passed a lot of furbeasts after that. Some were dead and rotting. Others were twitching, or turning their heads to look at the passing lizards. One, a young cat singing a song about death and blood, smiled at them.

The Jahk warriors stayed well clear.

It was all upside-down; as though an entire forest had been turned up by the roots, or a grassy knoll trampled by an entire tribe. Rekkua doubted the city could ever be salvaged. _But if they rebuild it, they'll need our help. Then, we'll be the ones in control._ She smiled at the thought.

"Hsst! I hear something!" Zavak motioned for silence, and all three listened. The sounds of marching pawsteps floated over the wall next to them.

"I'll investigate!"

"No, Rekkua. Wait…!"

Before Kiaza could protest further, Rekkua clambered up the wall to a small ledge. Peering over the other side, her breath caught in her throat. A group of – somethings were marching past. They tasted of weasel, and they were almost the right shape, but they were far taller and heavier than any she had seen. And their tails were completely wrong for a furbeast! As thick and powerful as her own! Weasels were supposed to have pathetic, shriveled tails. _What are they?_

"Rekkua!"

Rekkua jerked her head around and stared in horror as more weasel-things, weapons drawn, surrounded Kiaza and Zavak.

"There's another one! Ashtwig, Garri, get up there!"

Two red blurs dashed from the group and, next thing Rekkua knew, were standing on either side of her. Rekkua hissed and leveled her spear. There was something wrong about these creatures, too. They looked almost like rats, but their faces were a little too flat. They climbed faster than even she did, and their tails were huge, bushy clouds as thick as their waists.

One spoke. "Surrender now, and you won't be harmed."

She laughed. They hardly came to her chest. She could taste their fear. "Zee if you can hurrt me, _Zattaka_!"

A weasel-thing repeated what the not-quite-rat said. "Surrender now, and you won't be harmed. If you don't, we cannot promise the safety of you or your companions."

"We zurrrender! Rekkua! Don't do anyt'ing brrash!" Kiaza had already dropped his spear. His voice was pleading, fearful. "T'erre's too many!"

Rekkua despised the furbeast language. It sounded so light and unsubstantial; as if a stiff breeze could blow it away. She hated it even more hearing her brother using it to admit such a thing. But – she glared at the swords pointed at her from either side – he spoke the truth. She reluctantly tossed down her spear.

"Your name is Rekkua?" It was one of the rat-things. He smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry. We're woodlanders, not vermin. We keep our word."

"This way, lizard." The weasel-thing sounded bored as he led Rekkua down a passageway. His spear was leveled, but he wasn't paying much attention.

Rekkua looked around suspiciously. After being separated for questioning, she had not seen a single scale of Kiaza or Zavak. "My frriendz iz thiz way?"

"Yeah, sure, yor friends are this way. I'm sure you'll get along real well." They stopped in front of a door. Her captor jiggled something into the wood and swung it open.

Rekkua tasted the air. There was no trace of other Varan anywhere. She turned to the weasel-thing, anger growing. "What iz thiz? My frriendz iz not herre!" Her lips pulled back in a sneer. "You zay you iz honorable, but you iz no more zo t'an ztinking verminbeastz!"

The weasel-thing's eyes narrowed. "Don' compare me t' you scum!" he spat. "Jest get in there!" He shoved her.

Caught off-guard, Rekkua tumbled to the floor inside.

"'Nother one fer you, boyos!" The door slammed shut.

For a moment, Rekkua simply remained on the cold floor, seething. _Ancestors give me strength to slay those furbeasts a thousand times over!_ Feeling beasts watching her, she slowly pulled herself to her footpaws and looked around. Her eyes weren't used to the dim light, but she could make out three dark shapes. She flicked her tongue, tasting the scents. The taste of rat was obvious, as was that of stoat. The other, though…

Before she could figure it out, one spoke. "Greetings, sir. I am Antonio Calceterre; who might you be?"

Well, at least they were being polite. Probably the best thing to do given the circumstances. Drawing herself up to her full height, Rekkua faced Antonio. "I am Rekkua, Varan of Clan Jahk. Iz a…" she paused, searching for the right word. "Iz a pleazure." She glanced at the other two. "And you?"

"Brull."

"Aras."

Rekkua focused on the last one, still trying to distinguish his taste. "Are you…woodlanderr?" She colored that last word with as much distaste as she could manage in the furball language.

Aras snorted. "Hardly. If I were, do you think I'd be stuck in here?"

"Just a second, ladies! Let me move the crate out of the way." Antonio slid something along the wall, and instantly, new voices floated into the air.

"…do you think it is?"

"Probably just another poor soul."

Rekkua stared wide-eyed at the wall. "What iz thiz? Magic?"

Antonio chuckled. "No. Just a hole in the wall."

"But holez don't zpeak!"

It was hard to see in the gloom, but Rekkua could just make out the stoat's smile. He obviously didn't think she was very intelligent. "No, of course they don't. This one just connects to the prisoners in the next room over."

"Is it another prisoner?" a voice from the other side.

Rekkua strode over to the hole. Crouching down, she tried to peer through. "I am Rekkua, Varan of Clan Jahk."

'He just got thrown in here," Antonio offered.

Rekkua stiffened. _He?_ She stood up and glared at Antonio. "You t'ink I am…male?"

"Uh, are you not?"

She lowered her head until it was level with Antonio's face. "Iz you too ztupid to tell?" For a moment, she simply stared at the stoat, eyes wide and unblinking. "I am not male, _Zattaka_!" Anger laced her words, turning them into more of a snarl than a sentence.

The stoat seemed at a loss for words. She could hear his teeth clicking as he opened and closed his mouth.

A voice through the hole filled the sudden silence. "Miss Rekkua, you said you are Clan Jahk?"

Rekkua turned away from Antonio with disgust and again crouched down. "Yez, I am Clan Jahk."

"And are you angry about our city being here?"

Rekkua frowned. Where was this going? "Yez, of courze I am! You…"

"Us _Zattaka_ really muddied up the island for all Varan everywhere."

Rekkua's mouth hung open. That was the exact phrase her uncle Zaika had always used. The only non-Varans who knew that would be…

"Iz you…Iz you friend of Zaika?"

"You're Zaika's niece, correct? I met him…"

"Can we _please_ get back to talking about how to escape?"

"Rea's right! Save your reunions for later. We should get back to…"

Brull pounded urgently against the wall. "The guard's coming again!"

"We'll talk later, ladies!" Antonio shoved the crate back across the hole and sat down.

Rekkua rubbed her tattoo in agitation and leaned back against the wall. _Maybe they're bringing Zavak and Kiaza._

Antonio glanced up at Rekkua and spoke in sincerest tones. "My apologies for mistaking your gender, miss Rekkua."

Rekkua flicked her tongue. "Iz okay. Not your fault you iz ztupid."

The door opened.


	13. Pretty Girl, beware this heart of Gold

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 11. Pretty Girl, beware of this heart of Gold**

_by Dirano  
_

Dirano sighed as he sipped from the liquor. This wine was not really too refreshing, but then again it was of a cheap, inferior type. Normally the wildcat would not be caught dead drinking moonshine of this poor quality, but he had no other option right now. In times like these, you took what you got, and you tried not to let people know you had it. As it stood, he had been incredibly fortunate to have stolen this bottle at all.

Evankt just wasn't very stable right now, and it wasn't safe to go out of doors. Most vermin had fled to the far side, hoping to evade detection. Only a few, it seemed, headstrong or deluded, had stayed. Dirano was neither of these, but he knew he couldn't leave the city. His livelihood was here, the town was all he knew. Outside, he did not know his way around, and would likely get lost, or fall prey to woodlanders. Of course, none of that was on the cat's mind right now.

"So where are we going?" The male cat whispered, hardly daring to raise his voice even in the night. He gazed through the alley, where he was being taken by the paw. Leading him was a female cat, radiant and resplendent, full of muscular energy.

"Somewhere safe, love", the female cooed as she hurried through the alley and down another side street, "Marties' are in the streets after dusk sometimes, we need to find shelter."

Ah, so she would be taking him to an abandoned storefront, or an empty home. It didn't really matter to Dirano, as long as it was private, and nobody could see him slipping out.

He hoped she had plenty of valuables in her purse; otherwise this would just be a waste of time.

Do not get attached to them, Dirano thought. This kitten, Emma may be cute, but she is not the target here. Take them in, say you love them, and then wait until they are asleep. It worked every time. Trusting little fools, believing that he actually meant every word of it, it was just pathetic. Was it just instinctive, the way females blindly trusted anyone who could concoct a smooth story?

She was slowing down now, warily looking in both directions. They must be getting close to their destination. Dirano knew this part of town, he had pulled off many a job here, but something concerned him even more than that. The buildings were packed together pretty tight here, and yet none of them seemed to be broken in to. And that was odd for one reason especially-

"I heard the woodlanders have been through here the past few days," the cat said, voicing his concern under the guise of making conversation.

"Oh yes," Emma replied. "A troop of them, otters and whatnot, were in the neighborhood not too long ago. They didn't stay long though." She sounded tired and stressed, maybe a little over anxious.

"Are we nearly there?" Dirano asked out of curiosity. Surely they had been traversing often enough.

"Yes we are. In fact, this is the place." With that, Emma let go of his paw and turned to face the wall. Removing rubbish from its face, she revealed a door.

"Ladies first," The male cat said, wrenching the door open. She stepped inside, to the blackness within. Dirano hesitated a little on the eaves. It was completely dark inside the room, with nary a candle to light it.

"Come on in why don't you," Emma cooed. She thrust herself out of the threshold, and wangled her arms over Dirano's neck. "There's a special surprise waiting for you in here." With that provocative warning, she gently pulled him inside.

The door was now shut, and Dirano couldn't see a thing. He heard nothing either, except the sound of her breathing, mere inches from his face. He relaxed, letting the wine bottle drop to the ground. It broke open with a crack, piercing his leg with tiny glass fragments. By now, Dirano did not care. With both paws, he held her in his grasp and gazed into the light reflected off of her eyes.

"You know, it is a curious thing." Dirano commented after what seemed like the longest time.

"What is it that bothers you, love?" The female cat breathed, seemingly excited about the thrill and danger involved. Probably her first time, Dirano thought then. Of course I was nervous back then too.

"Why would a bunch of woodlanders, fresh with self righteousness, leave a vermin district unscathed?" Dirano felt that it was time to finally start asking her, just how they had escaped. "I mean, none of the doors we passed were broken down or otherwise molested. It was just as if everyone suddenly left one day, and never came back."

She said nothing, just looked at him silently. That was when Dirano noticed that her expression had changed. From the wild frenzy of passion, she was now calm and collected, one might say even cold.

The male cat grew frightened, removing his paws from her. He made to step back, but no, he was still being restrained by her paws. With a wild grab, he reached for her purse with his right paw. He might as well try to profit something out of this encounter, even if it turned out ill for him. Another shock: The purse was empty, flat as a board.

"Looking for this?" Suddenly Dirano noticed that her paws were no longer around his neck the right way. He was spun around in a headlock, and there was a knife to his throat.

"Wha- What is the meaning of this?" He sputtered, full of rage and confusion.  
"Don't try to resist, Dirano Willowvane," she sneered. "My friends here won't like it, see. They might think you'll try something stupid, as your reputation certainly suggests."

With blinding suddenness, the lights came on in the room. His eyes adjusting to the sudden flaring of many lamps, Dirano male cat could see that it was full of woodlanders- Otters,hedgehogs and mice -all of them armed.

"That's impossible!" gasped Dirano, stupefied by how easy it had been, how agonizingly Simple. He had been the master seducer, now to be tricked by a mere street urchin! Now he was almost certain to lose his dignity. He would be lucky if he did not lose his life.

"Just so you know- you're not irresistible, kiddo." She mocked him, her laughter sounding like acid in his ears.

"That's enough there." It was not a command or a suggestion. It had the authority and temperament as a solid fact did.

The speaker emerged from the group, a large male hedgehog wielding a hatchet in both paws.

"He's with us now, girl. Hand him over like we talked about, and go home."

"Fine," she spat, thrusting Dirano onto the floor, to land upon his face. Before he knew it, the cat was turned over on his back, and his arms were being bound.

Wrenched roughly from the floor, he was held tight by several woodlanders.

"I don't get this," Dirano shouted, panicked and befuddled by his drastic change in circumstance. He looked at 'Emma' or whatever her name was and spat on the ground.

She did not answer him, just looked him in the eyes once more. Her smile seemed to transcend ages, as if she had seen it all in her lifetime. Somehow, that coldness made him shiver, more so than he had ever felt in all of his experience.

"That's quite enough," a loud voice from behind him said.

A sack was placed over his head, and Dirano saw no more.

He only knew that he was being dragged by a rope halter and that his captors were in a hurry. Apparently, they did not care if he banged into things or tripped, they just walked inexorably on.

"Please," he murmured once, "Have the decency to take the bag off of my head and let me see!"

This plea only earned him a cuff to the shoulder and harsh words.

"Don't talk about decent folks doing decent things! We know who you are, Dirano, and what you do to poor innocent maidens! If you had any decency, you'd be walking on your hands and knees begging for forgiveness! So just stop talking!"

The words stung Dirano, harder than any mere blow could. How could these Woodlanders talk of decency and honor when they barely had any of it themselves? As for 'poor innocent maidens', that was a pure lie. The wildcat had personally never met a kitten in this wretched island that wasn't already experienced and world weary. Sure, Dirano pulled off the occasional 'job', but the cats did not mind so much. They enjoyed his company; he thought so much that they would never miss what he had taken.

After what seemed like an indeterminable period, the group came to a halt. The cat could hear a loud knocking, then the sound of a door being opened.

Pushed forward, the sack was ripped of off his head. Dirano blinked, for he could see only blackness. Then, he was kicked from behind, and fell once more onto his face. The door was shut behind him.

So that was how it was going to be. Alone, and forgotten, destined never to see the light of day again. Dirano thought about crying out briefly then thought better of it. Nobeast would be listening to his cries, an even if they did, who would care?

Breathing, slow controlled inhalations repeating over and over again.

Alone?

Suddenly Dirano knew that he wasn't.

A paw shot out of the gloom, right in front of the cat's face. It was stretched out in a placating, even welcoming way. Squinting as his eyes got used to the light, Dirano could make out a face in front of him. It was the face of a rat, dressed as if he had come from far away or something.

"Name's Sheriff Brull," said the rat."They dump you in here too? What do they call ye by the way?"

Sitting himself up, Dirano looked around the room, taking in the other occupants. All males it seemed, he really couldn't tell in the darkness.

"Sheriff, you say?" asked Dirano. "In that case I wish to report a lawbreaker on premises. You ever hear of a nasty little kitten named Emma? One of the Oasis girls I think...I never asked their names before...Anyways she's turned, and thats why i'm in this hole."

His mouth felt a little dry at the moment. He could introduce himself now, but he had never felt so thirsty before.

"I seriously doubt it, but do you have any spirits in here?I'm dehydrating to death here, even brandy will do for now."

Brull just stared at him funny. Almost as if he was sadly deluded.

"You don't know anything, do you?" The rat proceeded to mutter something under his breath. Dirano couldn't hear him, but it sounded very much like...

"Of all things, why brandy?"

Dirano looked at the other captives in puzzlement. He recognized none of them, some of them looked quite foreign males, at least, one of them...he was not so sure. Hmph, sometimes you had to actually stoop to asking before you made a move. That was always uncomfortable though, for all parties concerned. To get back to the topic at hand though, he needed to ask something of them. Might as well, he had no choice in the matter anyways.

The wildcat asked the room, not really expecting an answer. "Is there anything to drink in this hole? My mouth is drier than desert sands."

Giving him a look of pity, and not quite answering him, a nearby stoat threw a lump of stale bread in his direction. It met its mark and landed on the floor.

"Well, thanks...whoever you are," Dirano replied. "Your generosity is unmatched."

"Antonio," the stoat answered him.

"The names, Willowvane. Dirano Willowvane.I doubt you've heard of me."

A smirk seemingly sincere, it seemed he had heard of him all right. Or maybe he simply had not heard him. It didn't really matter.

The wildcat bit into his bread with vigor. Wait-that didn't taste right, something inedible was in it-

"Ptooo!" Dirano spit the offending morsel out of the bread and tried to continue eating.

What was a piece of parchment doing in his bread? That made just about as much sense as-

"What are you doing, Sheriff?", Dirano asked as he saw Brull gaping at the floor.

The other occupants had arrived to his end too, intrigued by what they saw. Now that they were closer, Dirano could see them better. Two veritable monsters, one foreign, and one native. Well, the monitors were easy to deal with when you saw them every day, but that monstrosity...

Dirano was still closest to the parchment. Dropping the stale crust, he plucked the scrap up from where it had been lying by on the floor with his footpaws.

He, too, gave out an audible gasp.

The lettering could not be mistaken even in this mediocre light. It was a map, elaborately detailed, of the entire island. Annotations and notes could clearly be seen in the margins, and there were many arrows dictating possible points of interest.

It was a plan for escape, orchestrated from the outside.


	14. The Grass is Always Greener

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 12. The Grass is Always Greener**

_by Sybil_

How did it come to this? Wallowing in a reeking ship, she could tolerate. When she was there, she was at least given her own space, but then they put her in here. Oh, she was all to herself at first, but then _they_ started filing in one by one.

First it was that old vixen that kept rambling on and on and on about something sandy, an irritable brat second, and then came the wolf... Sybil glanced sideways, eyeing the savage's claws and fangs. Content to see the that the distance between them had not changed, the marten turned back to stare at a spot of gray on the wall as she tore at her bread. And as if her company wasn't loathsome enough, some slithery, slimy serpent had wormed its way into the room.

"Hello. Want some of mine?" Sybil turned to the voice, her face in a scowl. It was that fox again, this time holding a crusty chunk of bread out to her.

"Get lost, brat!"

Zula gave a yelp as the offering was swatted out of her paw. "Oh no!" She stooped down, paws fumbling around in an attempt to rescue the bouncing roll. It still puzzled the marten, how such a bumbling idiot managed to smuggle a knife in. And even more, the fox refused to give it to her after she had so kindly "found" her glasses.

Of course, starting out as a petty pickpocket, Sybil had learned the most crucial thing in life- how to spot an opportunity. And what better opportunity than that moment when everybeast was distracted by the box? But as interesting as the spectacles seemed, the fox's reaction was priceless. While short, it was at least hilarious to see pathetic little Zula squint her eyes and totter around like a drunkard.

And now the brat had both the glasses and the knife. _Not a fair trade._

The thief would have certainly taken the blade now, but everybeast stared at her with quizzical expressions- most of all the wolf. The marten turned the other way in the instant of eye contact, placing a protective paw on her bandaged shoulder. _Of course, wolves could smell blood leagues away. The very second she saw me she wanted to sink her fangs in._

"Ezcape? Iz you zure?" Sybil's ears pricked at the muffled voice and the simple word "escape." At least, that's what she thought it sounded like. And from the reactions of everybeast, her ears were working just fine. She watched as her cellmates cautiously clustered around the hole, seeming almost afraid to breathe.

"Escape?" the snake repeated.

"Yes!" somebeast said from the other side. "There was a message baked into my bread. I bit into it and then this piece of paper came out and now there's a plan written on it from something called the Red Dusk and we have to-"

"Stop," the wolf interrupted. "We can't let those... 'woodlanders'... hear about this, so be quiet. Also, what in Siren's name are you talking about a paper?"

"It's a message that was baked into the bread," a gruff voice explained. "Seems like there's going to be a riot in here from some vermin rebels. They're going to be here soon to free us, but we'll need to break out of here first to meet them. The attack is planned to happen two days from now, but telling from the way the bread's so hard and crusted..." there was a slight pause and Sybil found herself actually scooting closer to hear. "It seems as though it was baked just a couple days ago. They could come today." Soon enough, a rat's paw appeared through the hole and held a rumpled piece of parchment out to them.

Pearl took the paper, flipping it open and holding it so that everybeast could see. Perched on the brat's shoulder, the serpent craned her neck out, her tongue tickling the air. "Would they dare to get us out?" she asked.

"No idea. For all we know, they could just grab what they can and leave us here to rot." The rat's paw returned, palm raised upwards. Sighing, the old vixen rolled the paper up and placed it in his paw before it disappeared to the other side.

"Zattakas..." somebeast cursed, followed by more nonsense language.

"But how _exactly_ are we going to get out of here?" came another muffled voice. "We don't have the means to even get past the doors, let alone the guards. What if we're the only ones? We'll be killed out there."

Whiny as he was, Sybil had to agree with him. The place was teeming with woodlanders and she had already searched the cell for anything useful, but her efforts were wasted. The only thing wrong with the place was the weakened wall that allowed both parties to complain to one another. _Not like it does us much good, anyways._ But even if it was too small for somebeast to pass through, perhaps it could be used for something else?

A brilliant idea sparked in her mind. She rushed to the group, shouldering some of them aside before she pushed her face against the little hole.

"Listen. I said listen up!" she hissed. The jabbering idiots quieted down, followed by some scuffling on the other side.

"I want you all t'search the area," she instructed. "Try and see if you can find a loose nail and pull it out without bending it or snapping it or anything."

"And what does this _nail_ have to do with all this?" a male questioned. The cells were too dark to see at the moment, but the proximity of the voice told her that he was right next to the hole.

"Fer picking locks, Smart One," she snapped. "Now hurry up and go look 'round for something useful." There was an uncomfortable pause from the other side as the beast seemed to be stumbling for a reply.

"... Very... well...," he replied in a tight voice. And then he seemed to direct his attention elsewhere. "Brull, Aras, Dirano, _Miss_ Rekkua, would you kindly search the cell over in that area while I search here?"

_Well that took care of 'im._

"Is it true, then?" the wolf asked anxiously. Sybil whirled around, edging away as that thing approached her. "Can you really get us out of this place?"

"If I get what I need," the marten answered, once again failing at eye contact. She could almost feel the creature's breath misting over her neck as imaginary fangs began to prick past her skin.

"I have it!" somebeast grunted from the other side.

Sybil checked the distance between the wolf and her before turning back to the hole. "Give it here! Give it here!" she whispered.

"I don't think I can do that," a deep voice rumbled. "The hole's too small."

"Then get somebeast else to do it!" she replied sharply, plunging her own paw in the hole only to find that even her own arm wasn't slim enough. "Dammit," she seethed, frustration bubbling. "Then just throw it over here or something! I-"

"Allow me." The marten looked behind her to see the reviling serpent coiled around the brat's shoulders like a sash. "I believe I can fit right through yon hole and retrieve this treasure with nary a problem." Sybil couldn't help but wrinkle her nose as the snake's tongue flickered out.

"You'd better not lose it," she muttered, stepping aside to make room.

"Zula," it addressed the fox, "would you please step a little closer to the hole?"

"Certainly, Silly!" she said brightly, stepping up to the hole and angling her shoulder to make it easier for the snake. It didn't say anything more, though from the way the tip of its tail was twitching, Sybil could guess it was now quite irritated. Soon enough, the slithering worm had slipped through easily, and now all everybeast could do was wait.

Only when the tip of its scaly tail was the only thing visible did the thief hear the snake's voice. "Greetings fellow-"

"Oh 'Gates!"

"What is that?!"

"Znake?"

"There's been a snake infestation!"

Sybil gave the wall a quick pound. "Will you all shut your snouts? Do you want everybeast to hear you screaming? The snake's with us, s'just give her the nail!"

"If you please," the voice slithered. "I'm only here to retrieve what is needed for our escape."

"Ah... well... thank you for your cooperation in the matter," a voice said smoothly.

There was a moment's pause and then the snake's head appeared out of the hole carrying a rusted nail.

"You did it, Silly!" The brat plucked the metal out of the serpent's mouth in an instant and held it up to her eyes, inspecting it closely- the sharp end pointing at straight her pupil. Sybil was quite tempted to give her head a tight slap to see if the needle and her face would meet.

"Gimme that!" she snapped, swiping the nail from the vixen's paw. She wasted no more time on any of them, getting straight to work on the lock. The rusted metal scraped together, making a tiny irritable noise as she toggled with it, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth. _Dammit! If this stupid thing was slimmer it would fit better._ She jammed it in forcefully, pinching it between her claws so hard that it hurt.

_Creak creak creak_

The marten couldn't help but wince as the floorboards groaned lightly as somebeast approached her. The last thing she needed now was a distraction.

"Hon," the old hag said. Sybil was now gritting her teeth, wishing she would just stop yammering about things that don't even matter. "I think it would work if you move it around a little to the left and tilt it up... yes. Like that. Now if you could just push it gently like-"

"Will you leave me alone?" she snapped. The marten didn't even look to see the vixen's reaction, but she imagined her crossing her arms and throwing her nose into the air.

"Well," she huffed. "You don't have to be so rude. I was just trying to help. We're all in this together, you know." Thankfully, she backed off after that, leaving her to the frustrating work.

There were suddenly mixed choruses of "Did she get it?" and "Did it work?" from the other room.

"Be quiet!" she barked, her eyes never leaving her task. An uneasy silence crept in after that as the prisoners waited anxiously. But more than once, the thief heard some hushed conversations mediating from her cellmates. The minutes dragged on and she could feel everybeast release their held breath with a sad sigh, accepting the fact that the marten couldn't handle a simple little lock. And now Sybil's paws were slick with sweat, her claws fumbling with the nail as it constantly slipped in her grasp.

She couldn't understand why it wasn't working. It had worked the first time she was in prison all those seasons back, so why wasn't it working now? Was nothing else in her life going to go her way anymore?

The marten bent the nail into the keyhole and wrenched it around, her shoulders shaking violently as she did so.

_Dammit dammit dammit! Come on! Unlock ye stupid little piece of_-

_Click_.

---

A gloomy, quiet hall was what greeted Sybil on the other side. Normally she would have appreciated the lack of guards, but this silence made her neckfur stand on end. Cautiously, her other cellmates followed suit, their eyes wide and their heads lowered. In the meantime, the marten was deciding which direction to run. To the left or to the right? Both passages seemed identical- dim and silent.

"Hello?" Somebeast pounded on the other side of the neighboring cell door. "Hello?"

"We should let them out," Pearl advised in a quiet voice.

"Hey! You owe us for that nail," another voice growled in desperation. "You would've never gotten out without us!"

"Quiet!" Sybil hissed, pushing the crooked nail into the keyhole. "Do ye want to make such a racket?"

"We willz if you don't releaze uz like honorable beazt," something snarled in reply. For the way they had been so demanding, the marten considered turning tail and walking off. And she would have done it too, but those beasts inside would scream their lungs out and alert the guards out of sheer spite.

She barely felt the nail shudder as the lock came undone.

In a heartbeat, the door was swung wide open and the beasts came filing out.

The first to slink out was the cat, dressed in a gaudy blue jacket with plenty of shiny buttons. At least, it might have been that way, but now it was rumpled and smudged with so much dirt that it just looked ridiculous. And then came the giant lizard, nearly colliding with a stoat on its way through the door frame. Sybil didn't need to look at its razor claws, wrinkled scales, or that primitive tattoo before she stepped back. All she needed to notice were its yellow, slitted eyes flitting back and forth over the new faces. Even that stoat, as much as he held his head high, seemed intimidated.

"Erm... ladies first," he flustered. _Lady? That thing is a lady?!_ If his politeness was supposed to impress the lizard somehow, he had utterly failed. From its stride, Sybil guessed that "she" would have ruthlessly plowed right through him if he got in her way. It paused at the door, staring the marten up and down, giving her the smallest of nods. _Probably agreeing with itself that I'd be tasty_. And then Sybil turned her head to watch the reptile as it darted straight for the closest doors and peered through the tiny windows, jabbering in its own weird tongue.

The stoat, however, calmly sauntered through the doorway and greeted them in the same remarkably polite manner.

"Thank you for your assistance, ladies," he said with a bow of his head. "Antonio Calceterre at your service." _Oh goody, it's the Smart One._

"You're welcome," the fox brat squeaked. There were a few more scattered responses from each of them, but Sybil kept her silence. If she didn't know any better, he was almost as ridiculous as the cat, wasting time like this. Suddenly, there was a vibration against her footpaw and a terrifying figure emerged from the room, barely squeezing past the door.

Sybil gaped at the towering creature, noting its muzzle full of fangs and bulging muscles. If it wanted to, it could clamp its paw right over her head and crush her skull in the same way one ould crush an egg. The first thing the grizzled beast did was blink at his group of rescuers, angling its ears backwards as it registered the gaping mouths. But frightening as it was, it simply lowered its head and lumbered to an empty space in the hall. From there, it scanned the faces of its new comrades once again. _Probably trying to pick out who t'eat first._

And then the creature's eyes fell directly on the marten, lingering for much longer than comfortable. She swallowed back her nervousness, keeping a wary eye on him as she took a few cautious steps back, nearly bumping into the wolf. Upon realization that she was between the two monsters, the marten skittered off to the side, cursing her luck. _It just happens to be me that ends up with _this_ lot. I hope they kill each other._

But from the looks of things, that wasn't going to happen. Instead, the wolf wasn't snarling or howling or doing whatever it was that Sybil had predicted. Rather, it was merely staring at the hulking newcomer, tilting its head to the side in a curious manner as the massive beast did the same.

"YOU!"

Sybil nearly jumped out of her fur at the outburst, spinning around to see Pearl and the cat facing each other, both of them wearing sour expressions. _Are you all out of your minds?_ She opened her mouth, but somebeast beat her to it.

"Are you both insane?" A large rat brushed past her shoulder and marched right up to the two. "Do you want every single woodlander in this tavern to know we've escaped? I don't care if you're friends and I don't care if you rip each other's throats out, but _not_ now." The vixen was the first to react, flicking her tail as she turned her nose to the air.

"You're just lucky that I don't have time to waste on the likes of you," the cat spat before rounding on the nosy rodent. "And you, don't tell me what to do."

"As I said before," the rat replied, tail sliding across the floor in an agitated manner, "I don't think I want to waste _my_ time beating the fur off anybeast right now- especially prissy good-for-nothings." Sybil saw the cat's whiskers twitch before he surrendered with an audible sniff and turned away.

"Now then," the rat continued, turning to the onlookers. "If we're going to get out, we have to go together. There's safety in numbers, so let's just go." Normally, Sybil would have shrugged him off for another typical bossy male, but when he turned his head to talk to the stoat, she swore her heart stopped.

_Is that...?_

He was still speaking, but his words were nothing to her. All she could focus on was his voice. Every second, it became more and more familiar to her and the doubts began to ebb away.

_Brull._

She hardly noticed when the group began to move on. Quickly, she ducked right beside the old vixen as Brull strode past her and to the front, the stoat and the lizard following closely behind. She released her held breath. It seemed that he hadn't noticed her at all. _But since when did he get here? Of all beasts I have to see in my life, that rat-_

"Oomf!" She was so immersed in her thoughts that she bumped right into the hulking monster. She expected some enraged snarl or roar from it, but the savage ignored her completely as if it hadn't even felt her. Instead, it was standing still and swiveling its head like an idiot while everybeast moved on.

"Listen," it growled to nobeast in particular. "Hear that? It sounds like... fighting."


	15. Tooth and Claw

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 13. Tooth and Claw**

_by Rea_

"We have to get out of here." Rea felt an unpleasant churning in her stomach as the indistinct shouting and clang of weaponry drew nearer. "Before anything bad happens."

"I agree," Pearl chimed in, stepping up and placing a paw on Rea's arm supportively, or was she just moving to put a solid object between herself and the disdainful wildcat? "We have to get out."

"Run from fight?" The giant snake with legs flicked out her tongue as she turned her baleful glare on the wolf. "Only a coward rrunz. I must zave my clanmatez."

"We don't even have any weapons. As much as I hate to agree with the old whore, fighting would _not_ be prudent, my dear," the wildcat scoffed. "You can save your little clan some other ti-"

Without warning, he went tumbling to the floor, blood pouring from his mouth. The wolverine's balled fist remained raised a moment more before he dropped it to his side.

_When did he…?_ The wolf hadn't even noticed the giant creature move. Where in the Circle had he learned stealth like that?

"Are you mental?" the wounded feline hissed, sitting up and spitting out a tooth.

"You shouldn't talk to a lady like that," the wolverine growled. "It's-"

"It's not the time for this," the rat butted in, grabbing the cat and hauling him up by the collar unceremoniously, like some criminal he'd just run down. "That's a battle happening right down the hall and it's also the way to the exit. We're going to have to fight to get out of here, so toughen up, lad. You've got claws for a reason."

"But it's true 'bout Ms. Pearl," Zula piped up, confusion written on her features. The dreamsayer ignored her. She was in league with the scaled creatures…She couldn't be trusted.

"But that's ridiculous. We don't have to fight, we could just find another way out, right, Pearl?" Rea protested, turning to the only other sane, polite female in the bunch. The vixen didn't reply, though, her glazed eyes fixed on Aras.

_Oh, come on!_ the wolf growled inwardly, not understanding her fascination. They had a problem to deal with now and the fox was acting as useless as-

"The wolf's right." Sybil sounded a bit grudging in her agreement. "There's no point in fighting when I'm wounded and half of us aren't blood-crazed warriors. Gimme a minute and I can think of…"

A well-built otter appeared from around a bend in the corridor, silencing further conversation. "Keep 'em back, mates! We can't let 'em get t'the pris'ners!" Rea recognized Jibe, and beside him now, Tack.

"You run, t'en, _Zattaka_!" Rekkua sneered. "I fight alone!" The savage raced down the hall screaming an incomprehensible battle cry, teeth bared and claws ready to tear.

"Stop!" Rea screamed, barely registering that she too was running toward the action in the larger main corridor, arm stretched out to try to grab the vengeful, terrifying warrioress.

"It's that wolf!" Tack cried, surprise registering on his face just before the snake with legs ripped it off. The dreamsayer stared in horror at the blood gushing from the otter's gouged-out eyes, even as his body tried to fight back. He lunged at the giant snake, javelin in a death grip, but she whirled almost gracefully, using the momentum to bring her tail crashing into the otter's legs, crippling him.

"No!" Rea wanted to stop the warrioress as she stamped her footclaws into the otter's stomach, but Jibe beat her to it, slamming into Rekkua and shoving her aside. The wolf tried to grab for Tack's limp form, hoping she could do _something_ for him, but found her progress halted as a pole arm smashed against her side. She rammed into the wall where she felt several ribs crack. Jibe, teeth bared in a fearsome grimace, drew back his weapon for another strike.

"Ye stinkin' cowardly piece o' sharkbait!" the otter screamed, his spittle flying in her face as she raised her arms defensively.

_He's going to kill me. Siren, he's going to kill me!_ Rea thought. And following closely on the heels of this realization as a tiny spark of indignation flared, _What the Nightmare did I do to _deserve_ it? Howling lunatic!_

"Thought ye might o' been diff'rent," Jibe raged, beating at the wolf with each gulp of air. "Thought we mighta treated ye a bit rough–"

"Stop! Stop it! I didn't do anything, you moon-eyed madbeast!" she barked over his ranting. "I didn't even get a chance to touch him!"

"–but yer one o'em straight through!" he shouted her down. "Didn't get a chance 'cause I won't let ye! I'll kill ye an' yer friends fer doin' over me brother! I'll ki-"

A giant paw descended on the otter's head, knocking him aside as if he was nothing more than a rag doll. The wolverine stood where Jibe had not a moment before and Rea stared up at him with a mixture of fear, pain, and appreciation.

"You all right?" he demanded. His breaths came in short puffs and the look in his eyes told the dreamsayer that he was restraining himself in some way. She had no idea what it was, but it frightened her all the same, just as his quiet attack on the foul-mouthed wildcat had. She knew some more primitive creatures in the Circle still practiced violence against sentient beasts as part of their culture, but could this wolverine…?

"No," the wolf gasped and turned away. _This is wrong. It's all wrong!_ Rea dodged past the creature who both attracted and repulsed her with his familiarity and actions, and found herself confronted with chaos. A ragtag group of squirrels, otters, lemming-things, and miniature rats clashed sword, cutlass, pole, and javelin against a much larger group of weasel-things, rats, foxes, and wildcats.

Jibe lay crumpled on the ground, blood seeping from his head and coming closer and closer to being trampled as the fighting raged around and over him.

_I have to save him,_ Rea thought desperately. Even if it was this one creature, she could help him and then maybe Tack-

"Keep yore mitts off Jibe, vermin!" a voice shouted behind her. The wolf howled in pain as a blade sliced shallowly across her upper thigh. "Don't ye have the decency t'let the wounded be?"

She twisted around, ears forward and teeth bared aggressively, to see a lemming-thing aiming to slash her again. The wolverine head already moved off to brain a few more creatures. "I'm trying to help!" the dreamsayer snarled.

"Like water helps a drownin' beast!" the lemming-thing lunged, but Rea dodged, resisting the intense urge to grab him and throw him down the corridor. It would be so easy with such a tiny, little creature. Like the snake with legs or the wolverine, she could snap his neck and toss his limp body at the others to show them just what she could do to them. Just how much she could hurt all of-

_No!_ The wolf ran, shoving past beasts and trying to ignore the carnage that infested the edges of her vision. Even if Granny was a fool. Even if Papa had no spine. Even if every other thing her elders had force-fed into her mind as a pup proved rubbish, Rea believed one thing for certain: _Violence is wrong!_ And it wasn't go to solve anything here.

The dreamsayer raced past a hare frantically fending off two rats with only one paw while the other held what was left of her entrails inside the gash in her stomach. She jumped straight over a dogfox, no more than twelve seasons, who had lost both legs and was now stabbing at anything within reach with a pitchfork while he bled out, sprawled in the corridor. She shoved past Antonio who had joined the fray and liberated a sword that now held a miniature rat on its end.

"Red Duuuuusk!" An older marten with a patch over her left eye hollered as she stood firm in the center of the corridor and raised a cutlass over her head, blocking Rea's escape. "We've nearly finished 'em, mateys! Push t'the fore an' free th'pris'ners!" The marten's chill blue gaze came down to rest on the dreamsayer's terrified face and with a sneer the elder vermin stepped aside. "Run on, lassy. No need fer yellow-bellied jellyfishes here."

"I'm not…" Tears rose unbidden at the rather tame insult as the wolf flinched and dropped her eyes to her footpaws. _I'm not a coward!_ she wanted to shout at this creature. _I'm a dreamsayer. I'm a Lightbringer. I'm a wolf. I'm…I'm covered in blood._

"Never ye mind, girly," the marten sniffed, looking past her. "S'finished. We've won. Ole Cap'n Serpentcharmer an' her crew've won. Red Duuuuusk!"

"Red Duuuuusk!" A hearty chorus of voices returned.

Rea turned slowly, noticing now how triumphant cheers and the thunk of metal on wood had replaced the screaming and clang of metal on metal. But there was something that could not change with this 'victory': the acrid tang of blood in the air.

_Twenty-one._ More bodies than she had seasons. The dreamsayer had to place a paw over her muzzle to hold down the bile that rose in her throat with the realization and the stench.

"First sight o'battle, lassy?" the captain chuckled, slapping Rea hard on the back. The wolf cringed, the pain of her broken ribs screaming out now that no immediate danger threatened her.

_Battle?_ the wolf thought incredulously. _What battle? This is a massacre._

"Ye get used t'it, aye. Naow me own first time I was-"

Rea ignored her and padded forward, trying not to notice the way her boots squelched or the slumped forms that she had to step around and over as she approached the holding cells again. The Red Dusk creatures had taken to breaking down the doors of the other prisoners as best they could. Antonio and the rat shouted out orders to various creatures, trying to sound important. Pearl tied a strip of cloth around a small cut on the wolverine's arm, staring determinedly away from the battlefield. Silisk lounged on Zula's shoulders, surveying the others like a queen and whispering something only the little vixen could hear. The snake with legs paced along the hall, looking into each cell as if searching for somebeast in particular. The feline eyed the more shapely female members of Red Dusk with lustful eyes. Sybil secluded herself in a corner, warning off others with a glare. They were all fine.

How was that even possible? None of them, not one, took a second glance – if there they had looked first, at all – at the carnage before them. They looked, but did they _see_ anything?

"Oi! We got a live one 'ere," Rea turned to see a weasel-thing poking at the battered form of an otter with the tip of his sword. "Should I off 'im, Cap'n?"

"Jibe!" The wolf lunged for the fallen woodlander. Even if the frost-headed moron had beaten her for no good reason, he was somebeast to latch onto. Some concrete thing that she could protect and fix. "I can help him. Just a moment, I can help him!" The vermin backed up, suspicious eyes following the dreamsayer's movements.

_Just stay calm,_ Rea counseled herself as she maneuvered the bleeding otter gingerly so he lay on his back. _What's he hurt? His head. That wolverine hit him over the head. What did Granny say about head injuries?_

"Water. I need water and herbs," the wolf demanded. No beast moved.

"Does them herbs make the meat taste better, Ms. Rea?" Zula queried.

"Shut up, you sod-brained brat!" Rea snapped, unable to control her temper anymore with the stupidly oblivious vixen.

"Settle, lassy," Serpentcharmer raised her eyebrows. "Ye'll be gettin' no help from us with that one. I hate t'see a beastie sufferin' as much as the next, but I won't bring on th'wrath o' th'Powers by aidin' an enemy."

"But you'd kill him in cold blood," the dreamsayer challenged.

The captain scratched her short muzzle and stretched. "Yep. Better dead on th'floor than alive with a jav'lin in paw an' attackin' me an' mine, I say."

"Why you-" Rea didn't get a chance to tell the old marten just what she was as a weasel-thing started shouting from the direction the Red Dusk creatures had entered from.

"Cap'n!" the lookout puffed. "Cap'n they gots more woodylanders comin'! Score'n a half, at least!"

"Right! Ye heard th'lad, come about an' sail on toward home!"

"But what about Jibe?" The wolf motioned to the unconscious otter.

"Stay if ye want, wolf," Sybil scoffed as she strode past, heading toward the exit with the Red Dusk creatures and freed prisoners.

"Come on, Rea," Pearl urged, grabbing her paw, recoiling for a moment at the sight of the red soaking it, then mastering herself and grasping the paw more firmly. "If-if there's one thing woodlanders do wonderfully, luv, it's taking care of their own." Rea let the vixen pull her along, committing to memory every detail she could about the destruction left in their wake. She hadn't helped any of them. If anything, her escape had led to their deaths.

_What by the Starlit Path can I do here?_

A sudden stop at the tavern entryway drew her attention back to the present. Just outside the open entrance stood upward of two score otters, squirrels, and hares.

"Set down your weapons and come out slowly, or we'll come in swinging and fast, wot!" One of the hares informed them. "You have one minute to decide!"

"Maybe we can talk them into letting us leave," the wolverine suggested quickly.

"I doubt our arguments as to 'why' would hold much merit after slaughtering more than a dozen of their compatriots, _sir_," Antonio said. From his tone, the weasel-thing might as well have sneered: 'Are you a _moron_?' "We'll have to force our way out. I suggest multiple exit points through the windows and doors with-"

"We just need to rush 'em, Toni," the rat cut in and Rea would have sworn she heard Antonio's teeth grinding together at the nickname. "I've seen this sort of thing before. They won't be expecting it, so we'll catch 'em off guard an-"

"Stow it ye clods," Captain Serpentcharmer hissed. And then with a smirk she turned to the rest of the crowd. "Looks like some o' us will be meetin' the Powers, lads an' lassies. But Hellgates or high waters we're gettin' outta this stinkhole. Ev'rybeast fer hisself. Split an' run an' head fer home. Make sure ye've got a couple o' th'new recruits on yer tail so's they don't get lost an' they'll be a shield case yer targeted. 'Member, ye only gotta be faster than th'slowest beastie."

"Ten seconds!" the hare called.

"Wait," Silisk interjected curled around Zula's neck, "what is this 'home' you speak of?"

"Sarky's mansion," the old marten grinned manically. "Red Duuuuusk!"

They charged, some crashing through the front entrance, others through the windows and a side door. A volley of arrows flew as the front runners exited the building and a rat fell back dead onto Rea, a shaft protruding from his neck, as she jumped through after him.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" the wolf cried as she shoved him forward again, acting on survival instinct alone as she tried to keep somebeast familiar in her sights. Up ahead, Sybil, hurt as she was, managed to evade an otter and his javelin by jumping up onto his shoulders and using him to vault herself clear of the frontline. She hit the ground, pausing for a moment to regain her composure, before standing and running forward at an alarming speed. Next, she grabbed the staff of a squirrel who tried to stop her, flashing her teeth as her damaged shoulder took the brunt of the force, and used her momentum to spin him around and dodge past.

Rea didn't have much time to marvel at these agile displays as she ducked and weaved awkwardly, incredibly aware of how large and vulnerable she was. _Not to mention my arms and ribs hurt like Astrid's Belt!_ An arrow skimming her shoulder added an additional pain and the wolf howled out, startling the creatures nearby with her volume and keening pitch.

"I'm sorry!" she hollered as she barreled through a group of otters, ears flat and arms up to protect her head. A moment later, she felt herself clear the main group and looked around, noting how much cooler the air was when not trapped by four score-odd beasts running on pure adrenaline. She spotted the idiot vixen ahead and to the left and hoped beyond reason that Silisk had told Zula to follow one of the members of Red Dusk.

Because Rea had to follow, too.


	16. Patient Zero

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 14. Patient Zero**

_by Admin_

The sound of the surf against the shore provided some welcome auditory cover as the eight Long Patrol Hares and their companion—to call him a friend would have been a gross exaggeration—pulled their two small rowboats away from the tideline and into some scraggly brush and shrubs near the water. The hares were all lithe and muscular, dressed in dark grey tunics that provided good cover in the littoral hours between day and night, and all of them were heavily armed with a variety of melee and ranged weapons. All of them carried light rucksacks, although in the tradition of fighting hares they planned to live mostly of their environment, and went about the tasks of forming a perimeter and establishing a beachhead with practiced precision. Major Rocrova Regaworth had chosen only the best for her reconnaissance and recovery patrol.

As the rest of the patrol provided security, Major Regaworth and her executive officer Captain Woxley conferred briefly. Normally having one officer above the rank of lieutenant command a unit this size would have been considered excessive, let alone two, but the Long Patrol had a set tradition of higher ranking officers commanding particularly important missions regardless of unit size, especially when they were far away from the command structure. After talking for a moment, Regaworth turned and called softly over her shoulder.

"Greenclaw, front and center. Time to start earning your pay!"

At this summons, the ninth creature on the mission, and the only non-hare, gave a rather surly nod and ambled over to the two hares, pointedly ignoring the dirty looks his presence earned from the other Long Patrol hares.

"Here I am, Your Majorness. I'm guessing you need directions already?"

Captain Woxley cuffed him hard. "None of your cheek now. Show the proper respect when addressing an officer!" The hare drew back his paw again but stopped at a glance from Major Regaworth, who interceded.

"Yes, we do need some help. You got us into this old smuggler hideout just as you said you would. Now we need you to get us to that place in the city we talked about. We're paying you well enough, so please cooperate."

Greenclaw turned to Woxley smugly. "You know that old saying about bugs and honey?" Ducking under Woxley's glare, he gestured to the Long Patrollers. "Follow me, ladies and jerks. I know just the perfect place for you to spy on the whole city…." Greenclaw set off into the city, followed closely by the Long Patrol hares.

Many Long Patrol hares would have been surprised and dismayed to see eight of their own following a ferret to an observation point, but Major Regaworth had no personal issues with using a vermin guide when necessary, which it certainly was at the moment. It was not something anybody liked to talk about back at the Mountain, but this mission was not the first time the Long Patrol had enlisted the aid of a vermin with the right knowledge at the right price, and it would not be the last. Major Regaworth had located Greenclaw with the help of an old friend of hers, a hedgehog tavernkeeper who served both woodlanders and vermin. The ferret was a merchant and smuggler (depending on what he was carrying and for whom) from Evnakt who had been amongst the last to escape from the city after the storm. Regaworth needed a guide and informant and Greenclaw needed some quick pay to help him get reestablished. A deal was struck, and so it was that the ferret had found himself aboard the LPS Hon Rosie, one of three small, shallow-hulled ships that the Long Patrol used to patrol the coasts and insert small forces via rowboats. Work on the Long Patrol Ships was considered a career dead end for an officer of the very land-based Long Patrol, so the crews on all three LPS craft were split between hares and otters from a local holt.

Greenclaw, as annoying as he could be, was apparently the real deal when it came to guiding the hares through the city. He led them on a three dimensional path through the city that took them through windows, over rooftops and through sewers, gutters and abandoned buildings. Corporal Molbro, assigned to provide security to the unarmed ferret, found himself constantly whispering at Greenclaw to slow down. The ferret wasn't carrying a pack of his own, and so had no trouble hoisting himself onto high ledges or through small spaces. Still, true to his word the ferret quickly led them to the tallest building still intact in the city: the tower of Levan Nakat. Greenclaw stopped and waited for the hares to all arrive.

"Okay, everybeast, this 'ere's the old digs of Levan Nakat, the beast who used to run this place. Up at the very top his father, the first mayor, built an observation deck with telescopes and such so he could see anything happening in the city. Levan, though, didn't care for it that much himself, so he sealed off the deck from the rest of the house, installed ladders that led straight up to the top, and opened it to the public. We used to use it to case security patrols and such. You can catch some interesting stuff from up there. 'Specially at night, lots o' creatures don't remember to close their bedroom windows, even when they've got company…"

Captain Woxley scowled at the ferret. "Your degenerate interests notwithstanding, what does this have to do with us?"

Major Regaworth looked thoughtfully at the tower. "You know, I think I actually see where this is going….if we got up to the deck, cleared it and retracted the ladders, we'd be isolated from the ground but could still get out by going roof to roof. And optical aids would be a big help indeed. Well done, Greenclaw."

A short while later, the hares were set up inside the observation deck, having killed some squatting vermin and removed some rubbish. Major Regaworth and Captain Woxley laid out the map Greenclaw had prepared and called the ferret over. Together, the three of them began planning how to find Lord Garrilan's parcel. Greenclaw didn't mind actively participating. The faster they got their loot, whatever it was, the faster he got his gold and got the hell away from these dour hares. With this in mind, he pointed out Sarkleyet's mansion on the map and began to lay out the relevant information about the rich pine marten who most likely was at the center of this whole situation.

"Ahoy, Sarky, we're 'ome! Break out the gold and the grog, mate, and give us a good ol' rich beastie welcome!" Captain Serpentcharmer was grinning widely as the Red Dusk and the escapees finally reached their destination. In better times it would have been a truly magnificent place, a massive, elaborately constructed mansion right at the very edge of the city, protected by a specially constructed annex to the outer walls and yet isolated from the hustle, bustle and noise of the rest of the city. The mansion was located in an area of town far away from Marcion's strictly controlled harbor district stronghold. Small bands of fighters stayed well-hidden in buildings and alleys along the route to the mansion. However, they were still detected by the Rekkua and Rea's keen senses of smell and hearing. Even the practiced eyes of Ikaras, Sybil, and Antonio were able to pin-point their locations. To someone less astute, however, the fighters were well enough camouflaged to ambush any intruders. There was little danger of an incursion from Felldoh's Heirs, however. Scouting parties had established the squirrel appeared to have notably underestimated the size of the force required to effectively control a city, and the area between the harbor and the mansion was largely controlled by gangs and brigands. Only generous payments to the leaders of these roving bands allowed the Red Dusk troops to move safely through them. Furthermore, the woodlanders, so renowned for their fieldcraft in the wilderness, had proven themselves poorly suited to navigating or tracking in a city, an environment most of them had never seen before. They were superbly trained and armed for a straight-up fight, but Marcion's soldiers had been ambushed or captured several times attempting to pursue fleeing enemies until Marcion implemented strict procedures regarding pursuit that mandated that nobody allowed themselves to become separated into groups of less than three, and nobody pursued past the point where they could be reinforced. That had curbed the losses, but also decreased mobility and emboldened the vermin.

"Hello, Captain Serpencharmer. I trust your mission was a success?" The speaker was a slim weasel with pleasant features who wore an expensive green tunic.

"Aye, you could def'nly say that." Kione indicated the ten beasts that had been brought back with the Red Dusk fighters, and the handsome weasel turned to survey them.

"Hmm. An interesting mix of species you have here, Captain Serpentcharmer." The weasel started down the row, eyes showing recognition at Pearl. "Ah. Miss Pearl. These are not the usual circumstances of your presence here, but I suppose we shall let bygone be bygones, given the situation."

"Why thank you, Thalliv. How gracious of you to forget old business rivalries in the wake of disaster, plague and invasion." Pearl's voice had a note of sarcasm in it, but the weasel ignored it.

"Antonio Calceterre, Chief of Revenue Collection for His Excellency. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, and thank you for your hospitality."

Thalliv shrugged. "Never heard of His Excellency, but title inflation's all the rage these days." The weasel went down the line, meeting Zula, Brull, Dirano and Sybil. Then he got to Rea. "And here we have a…a…oh my. I certainly would not want to fight against you." The weasel seemed a little taken aback in spite of himself. He then looked to Aras. "Well, I do know what you are. Surprised to see a wolverine, I must say. Surprised but pleased. Welcome to Evnakt."

The weasel's demeanor got colder as his eyes turned to Rekkua. "Well. This is an interesting turn of events. I suppose with sufficient measures to keep you from pillaging the house or attacking other guests you might be useful." Rekkua leaned forward a bit, eyes narrowing, but Thalliv had already moved on, approaching Captain Serpentcharmer. "Master Sarkleyet is in his study. Please go up promptly. He'll very much want to hear about the results of your search."

"O' course. Wouldna want to keep the purser waitin'." Captain Serpentcharmer said dryly and headed into the house.

"The rest of you, follow me inside. I'll show you into one of the sitting rooms until Master Sarkleyet deems fit, whereupon you'll be shown to more enduring accomodations." The ten started to walk into the house, but suddenly Thalliv clapped a paw onto Zula's arm.

"Hold on a moment, Miss Higgins." Thalliv gestured at Silisk, still curled around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but we do not allow pets in the house. You'll have to leave your pet snake out here, Don't worry, I'm sure—"

He stopped abruptly as Silisk gave a loud hiss of annoyance and uncurled herself partly until she towered over Zula's head and was at eye level with Thalliv. "Pet? Yon valet dares to title me a PET?!? I am Silisk, the Mighty and Terrible Wyrm of Evnara, weasel, and I am not a PET!" This last sentence was punctuated by an even louder, more sibilant hiss.

Thalliv looked at her rather meekly, looking chastened. "Oh. My mistake. Carry on."

Zula giggled. "Aye, she's a funny liddle critter, ain't she?"

The sitting room was large, and relatively well appointed, with large numbers of comfortable chairs and small, sturdy tables. Still, it obviously had seen better days. There were many pieces of furniture from other rooms scattered about, with weapons and supplies in piles at the corners. Empty nails indicated where there had once been paintings, and there was obvious damage to the carpet and some of the wall hangings. There was a drinks cabinet, but its original contents had been either consumed or moved away, and had been replaced with rum and grog and other low grade liquor.

"Well, ain't that a change…what's a rich beast with no good drinks?" Brull grumbled to himself as he shut the liquor cabinet, a disappointed look on his face.

Behind him, Zula flopped down onto one of the chairs. "This is a nice room. Looks kinda like the sittin' room back home. Doesn't smell like it, though." Silis slithered off of Zula's shoulders, slid off the seat and curled up on the table next to it.

"This is a lair befitting a great power." The adder flicked her tongue out and basked contentedly in a patch of sunlight coming through the window into the otherwise fairly dim room. "Even if the retainers are of limited wits."

Antonio sniffed. "It's nice enough, certainly, but poorly maintained. I think we've all learned a valuable lesson on what happens when the master is too lax with the underlings." He paused awkwardly as he suddenly glanced around at some of his more plebian companions. "Or something along those lines"

Rea, battered, cut, and in obvious discomfort, flopped down on a chair only to leap up again when it gave an ominous creak of pain when she sat down on it. The wolf sighed and resigned herself to sitting on the floor. "I don't like it. There's a bad feel about this whole place. I think a lot of beasts have been in this house, and most of them were very unhappy, even miserable. There isn't any…warmth in here, any joy. It's just a big dark hole."

Dirano smirked. "Speak for yourself. Whoever decorated this place had money. And class. And probably females hanging all over him, just waiting to do whatever he wanted..."

"Yes, of course that's the first thing that YOU would think o,." Pearl said acidly. The vixen madam was reclining back in a particularly comfortable chair, but that didn't take the scowl off her face when she looked at Dirano. "He probably also paid for things instead of just stealing them. That was money out of my pocket when you climbed in through Emmy's window, and then you go and--"

"Hey,will you get off my case you w—" Dirano suddenly stopped mid-syllable, glancing quickly at Aras where the wolverine was leaning against the wall. The mysterious beast had uncrossed his arms and begun to lean forward. "You fox of questionable moral fiber who it is beneath me to try to rile further!" The cat said quickly, sitting back and shutting up.

"Good," Aras said as he reclined back again. "We have much better things to talk about right now than insulting one another. We all went right along with the group that rescued us, but we really don't know anything at all about the group who—" The wolverine broke off as the door opened and Thalliv reentered the room. The weasel had left them alone in the sitting room when they first arrived.

"Allow me to introduce myself." The trim mustelid said. "I am Thalliv, personal assistant to Master Sarkleyet." He paused, then continued. "I am also..ah, the most feared sniper in all of the Red Dusk. Dozens of woodlanders have fallen to my bow. When they whisper of me in the night, they call me….the Green Death."

There was a pause, and then Sybil broke in. "That's the lamest brag I've heard in seasons. If you're the "Green Death" then I'm the Queen of Sampetra. You're a skinny little butler with a fancy title who is trying to impress a bunch of beasts who don't know him. Now siddown and shuddup."

Thalliv sighed. "You know, once, just once I wish somebody would believe the whole "green death" thing. I actually wasn't bad at archery, you know." A brief pause and then he went back to business. "Anyways, Master Sarkleyet will be in here shortly to deliver a business proposition to you. Please conduct yourselves well. For those of you who are not from Evnakt, which I understand is many of you, remember that Master Sarkleyet is the richest and most successful beast in the city. He's an innovative doctor and apothecary as well as an extremely astute businessbeast, as you know already." He nodded to Pearl at this last statement. "Unfortunately, the other principle beast of the house, Master Nevyeer, appears to have succumbed to the illness that has been going about."

"What do you mean 'appear'? I should think that would be rather unambiguously obvious," Antonio broke in.

Thalliv ignored the query. "Master Sarkleyet has, as I mentioned, a business proposal for you. Specifically, he wishes you to go out, locate and obtain for him an extremely valuable piece of property that he believes could be instrumental in expelling the woodlanders."

Rekkua's eyes narrowed. "We not Saklet 's zuzzorm...his zervantz."

"If it comforts you to loudly reaffirm that fact, then by all means continue to do so. Otherwise, however, it may serve you well to let me explain what you ought to do instead." The speaker was a new entrant to the room, a well-dressed pine marten in his middle seasons. He had a slight swagger about him,a nd the air of a creature used to the respect, and even fear of others.

The pine marten glanced at them each in turn, then addressed them again, giving just the tiniest little smirk. "Good day, all of you. If you were all from Evnakt, I doubt it would be necessary, but as many of you are from abroad, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sarkleyet, and I am the owner of this mansion, as well as much of the city's commercial activity. As you can see, however, all of this has been rather seriously disrupted. Given all of the lost productivity, not to mention the lives, I've taken an active interest in removing the inflated peasants who have invaded our island. However, I have thus far been working without the assistance of an important tool of mine that has unfortunately been lost. That, my dear escaped fugitives, is what I wished to speak to you about."

"As most Evnakt natives know, my primary background is actually that of a physician and scholar, although since arriving on Evnakt I have become better known as an investor and a creature of business. Still, my heart still belonged to science, and along with my lab partner, the renowned apothecary Nevyeer, I set up an active research center in this very house. One of our main projects is one that you no doubt have heard fragmentary information about in its guise as "Red Brandy." You see, before coming to Evnakt I was the court doctor to an island king rich in gold but poor in good sense. This king launched a foolish campaign to conquer Salamandastron, and in the natural order of things died for his stupidity. However, the exact cause of the mishap intrigued me. The battle had gone surprisingly well in its early stages, until the arrival of the lord of the mountain, a full grown boar who charged into battle in an absolute and complete frenzy. Pain, injury and peril were meaningless to him, all he wanted was to crush his enemies. Of course, this in itself would have been useless without an army of more rational beasts to use more sophisticated tactics and hold captured ground, but it was nevertheless the factor that changed the outcome of the battle most decisively."

Amongst the ten sitting there, Silisk and Antonio seemed to be quite interested in this little bit of history. Aras looked curious and Zula looked bored. Rea, on the other paw, looked rather uncomfortable. The rest seemed short of riveted, but interested enough to continue paying attention.

"All of this caused me to wonder: what if you could induce such a state artificially? After all, if plants and chemicals can induce sleep or euphoria, why can they not induce a warrior's fury, a bloodwrath? So Nevyeer and I began experiments with both vermin and woodlander volunteers to test for such a formula." The weasel, Thalliv, showed a twinge of discomfort at the word 'volunteers' but Sarkleyet ignored him. Pearl just raised an eyebrow. Antonio's expression was almost knowing.

"And lo and behold, we were successful. For security purposes, we simply referred to it as 'Red Brandy' given its appearance, but what it really was was a major breakthrough. With this compound, we could artificially introduce a state of bloodwrath for a temporary duration. Imagine the possibilities! This compound could be used to create a force of shock troopers who would smash into the enemy lines, softening them up for lighter forces and inflicting great damage to morale, for whose heart will not tremor a bit at the site of ferocious warriors devoid of any feeling but the urge of the kill?"

At this point Rea could not hold back her dismay. "That's your master plan? Just whip up a bunch of crazy warriors who can't stop themselves from killing and turn them loose on your enemies? Your stroke of genius is just to kill everybody you don't like? It seems no wonder to me that the other beasts do not like you 'vermin' if that's what you do!"

Sarkleyet's expression was just barely short of a sneer. "I am not familiar with the norms of your culture, Miss Lightbringer, but in my culture, when woodlanders attack you the primary recourse is to kill the little nuisances."

Pearl also looked concerned. "Wait a second. I don't like the woodlanders one bit, but that doesn't mean I think you should just kill everybody in sight! Surely some of them aren't as bad as the others, do we have to--"

Zula's paw shot into the air so suddenly that Pearl lost her train of thought momentarily watching the juvenile vixen eagerly wave her paw in the air like a student with a question for the teacher.

Sarkleyet raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Miss Higgins?" In contrast to his derisive attitudes towards Rea, the pine marten was polite, almost deferential towards Zula.

"Yer really, really, really, really rich, right Mister Sarkleyet?" When the marten nodded, the vixen smiled and said brightly, "Well why don't you just buy the island back from them?"

"An interesting suggestion, Miss Higgins. You seem to have inherited your mother's flair for things financial, wouldn't you say, Pearl?" Sarkleyet said smoothly. When the vixen madam merely looked puzzled, Sarkleyet smiled. "Oh, didn't you know? Her mother is Nelda Higgins. I'm surprised at you Pearl, I hope you're not falling behind on the business due to any...distractions in your life."

Pearl scowled, but before she could say anything Brull held up a paw. "If it's all the same to everybeast, could we just 'ear the rest o' the story first?"

Sarkleyet nodded. "In any case, we were in the stage of looking for a buyer when the storm struck. The Red Brandy survived intact, but my laboratory did not. I lost most of my equipment and supplies, as well as several key lab assistants. To make matters worse, Nevyeer contracted Martin's madness. One night, he overpowered an assistant attempting to care for him, broke into the lab, stole the Red Brandy and ran off into the night with it. Nevyeer moved to Evnakt with his family when he was but a kit, and he lived or did business in many locations across the city, which he knew very well. I could not hope to search all of the places he could have hidden it, especially when gangs, brigands and later Felldoh's Heirs restricted my ability to move around safely and effectively. I resigned myself to the loss of the Red Brandy, and concentrated on other things in the interim, namely building an effective counter to the Felldoh's Heirs."

"However, I believe the situation has stabilized enough that I can resume paying attention to the matter of the Red Brandy. Kione Serpentcharmer has informed me that there are several among you with skills that may be useful in such a search, not to mention that your little group includes a number of unusual and formidable species, including two that I believe almost none of the woodlanders have any knowledge of or experience with. My proposition for you is simple: Find the Red Brandy, and you will have not only the satisfaction of helping to blunt the woodlander offensive, but also the guarantee of a large material reward once Evnakt is back in the proper paws. You could use Red Dusk strongholds as safe havens, but I would prefer you not talk to normal Red Dusk soldiers about this task, for reasons of security."

Brull raised a paw. "This--"

"It's a thick, almost syrupy liquid of a dark red color that is stored in a tightly capped cyindrical bottle made of very thick, heavy glass, and thank you for reminding me of that detail, Sheriff Brull." Sarkleyet said. Brull looked confused a moment, then shrugged and lowered his paw.

Antonio looked pensive. "Hmm...I can certainly understand the tactical value of such a substance. I suppose that searching for it would tend to be a constructive use of our time here."

Rea's face was hard to read for a moment. Finally, she looked up, an odd expression on her face, but determination in her eyes. "I--I apologize for blurting out earlier. I guess--the--the plan makes sense...but still, there's got to be a better way...I need to think about this a lot more.

Silisk uncurled herself and raised her head. "Has this treasure found a new lord, or is it yet unclaimed?"

Sarkleyet glanced at the snake, raising an eyebrow. "More than likely Nevyeer either stashed it somewhere and forgot about it, or died with it clutched in his paw. I doubt anyone would have made off with it, as it does not look valuable or appealing to someone who doesn't know what it actually does."

Sybil scowled at the other marten. "Jes' wait a minute, ye fancy talkin' rich beast. Why do we even want to join up with yer "Red Dusk" anyways, let 'lone go on this stupid scavenger hunt o' yers?"

Aras shifted, and leaned forward. "I would like an answer to that too. We appreciate you rescuing us, but we never agreed ahead of time to be part of anything further, especially searching for something that may or may not ever be found."

"Besides the satisfaction of driving away the woodlanders? Well, for one thing, you would be guaranteed a very handsome material reward once Evnakt and its resources were back in my--back in the proper paws. Furthermore, consider this: Those woodlanders mean to create a long-term armed presence on Evnara. Based on their conduct so far, do you really think they will just let you remain here, or even leave in peace? Of course not. If you won't assist the Red Dusk for any other reason, do it to save your own life." Sarkleyet's eyes lingered on Sybil a moment before suddenly flashing across the whole room.

"Oh, and one more thing..." Sarkleyet added. "Just in case any of you were thinking of taking the Red Brandy for yourselves, know this: I stored it in a heavily concentrated form. In order for it to be usable it must be diluted and measured according to very precise formulas known only to myself. If consumed in its raw form, or in an overdose, the Red Brandy will cause seizures, convulsions, heart failure and death. Now, with that said…" The marten looked around the room again. "I'll give you a little bit to mull it over. If you don't feel that finding the Red Brandy is worth your while, I suppose I can always use a few extra sets of paws, claws, or hollow fangs to help free the city." Thalliv opened the door for Sarkleyet, who paused as he exited the room. "Class dismissed."


	17. OCD ADD

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 15. OCD ADD**

_by Antonio_

"What exactly do you think of this Sarkleyet?" asked Antonio.

All of the males, with the exception of Dirano – probably gone off to flout his "charm" about the female servants – had grouped together in a large bedroom on the first floor. Over-stuffed armchairs, beds far too under-stuffed to be comfortable and a table in the center of the room, one with a mug stain, served as a pitiful excuse for décor.

Brull shifted his weight at the question, causing Antonio to mentally curse himself for being too direct once again; it was clear that the rat was more than a little opposed to other beasts assuming control over him. The stoat reminded himself to be more careful in the future and let the frustration pass.

"I don't trust him. Don't much like him, either. He broke us out of prison, sure, but he only did it so that we'd help him. He's only going to get everybeast killed, puttin' them on a suicide mission to find something that's probably not even in one piece anymore."

Antonio nodded and turned to face Aras, what he had learned was called a wolverine. Quite a seemingly powerful beast, though there was some restraint buried amidst that muscle if their encounter with Feldoh's Heirs during their escape was any indication. That either meant that he was too stupid to use his full strength or smarter than Antonio first assumed and was concealing his greater power for some reason or another.

"What do you think, Aras?"

That was what you did when you wanted beasts on your side; you asked what they thought. It didn't matter a wink if you actually took it into account, mind, but the mere act of asking would fool most into thinking you actually cared.

"He's got a lot of resources and wealth. He was really powerful before the storm struck and has even managed to keep some of that power, seeing as how he's still got so many allies," he answered after far too much chin-scratching. "It might pay to go along with him."

True; this Sarkleyet – goodness, could not his parents have devised a better name to give their son instead of such a dreadful tongue twister? – did have many resources. And he did have power, as evidenced by his sizable property and staff. Perhaps an alliance would prove –

"Are you…lissen, I don't think you're thinkin' quite straight is all." Brull was obviously holding back, not wanting to anger the giant of a beast who could very well crush him had he so wanted. Antonio made a mental note of this in neat ethereal scrawl, _Perhaps befriending Aras would in fact have its advantages. In the least, it puts Brull in check_.

Aras continued to voice his thoughts."I'm just saying is all. I know the mission he wants us to do his dangerous, but –"

" No, no, no, sorry, but…well, Sarkleyet's mad, crazy even. Nobeast in their right mind makes something like that Brandy stuff, let alone expects ten strangers to go after it just after their hides were almost boiled in oil or their blocks knocked off or whatever else those woodlanders were planning on doing to us. Why go back into the fire when we just were thrown a rope to get out of the frying pan?"

Brull was right, at least to a degree. Still, Antonio kept watch for the right moment. No doubt it would arrive as scheduled in just a few more sentences…

"It might still be worth it. Think of what that kind of power could mean," said Aras.

"I am. And I don't like it. And I'm also thinking of what it could mean tryin' to get at something that powerful. If somebeast like Sarkleyet's looking for it, who's to say someone even _crazier_ isn't looking for it too?"

"I was only trying to get you to see where it might come in useful."

And he would interrupt… now. "Gentlemen –"

"I'd say having a beating heart is more useful; not willing to die for that stuff."

"Ahem, gen-"

"We won't die!"

"You don't know that."

"…Excuse me…"

"Don't you want to get back at those woodlanders for what they did?"

"Best revenge's outlivin' them, I say, and we'll make better on that if we pack up an-"

"GENTLEMEN!"

Both Brull and Aras shot Antonio wounding looks of alarm. The stoat uttered a few long-winded swears in his mind, took a deep, calculated breath and sighed.

"My apologies." Though it really should be _them_ apologizing, ignoring him as they had. "I did not mean to raise my voice. However, I wanted to say that perhaps this discussion is not at all conducive to reaching a satisfying decision. Sheriff, Aras; both of you have made very good points." Now he waited for their inevitable attention, sweeping over to his armchair with theatrical grace, sitting down and keeping silent for five precise seconds before continuing. "It is a fact that Sarkleyet only released us from prison for his own personal gain. This in and of itself makes him suspect in my mind and I do not think him entirely trustworthy if we may in fact only be as pawns to him. Also of note is the amount of danger his requested task entails. To coin a phrase from you, Sheriff, 'nobeast in his… right mind' would take such a request after having previously been in such danger."

At this he stood and took one, two, three, four steps towards the door. Antonio judged the distance between himself and the door. He didn't quite like that. Five, six steps towards the door, stopped, stared at the floor in a text-book mimic of pondering.

"Yet, the prize promised may just in fact be worth the risk and with Evnakt in ruin, there seems no place more fertile with resources, at least as far as my eye can see, then right here."

To finish the guile, Antonio inserted a paw precisely on the edge of his chin, stroking it reflectively. "Ergo, it would appear that while the Sheriff has made an excellent and astute point, Aras's notable deductions should not entirely be ignored."

"You're saying we should do the beast's dirty work?"

Antonio could hear the red anger in Brull's voice. In exotic countries across the seas and further south, Antonio had heard, it was customary to inhale smoke from a curved instrument known as a pipe while mulling over an important matter. He couldn't help but think it would have made an excellent prop as he took a deep breath and continued.

"I am saying that the decision is each our own. For some, the better solution may indeed be to flee and find one's own modes of transport off of this island. For others, following Sarkleyet's direction may be the better choice."

"And I assume that you fit into the latter category?"

_You should never assume anything, Sheriff. Has your profession not taught you that much?_

"As yet, I am undecided."

Brull's face remained tight set in an expression that declared he was not at all convinced of Antonio's indecision, but before he could so much as interject with a simple objection, their room's door opened and a servant stood briefly framed in the timbers.

"Mister Ikaras?" asked the servant as her eyes wandered the room in search of the best. As if she needed to ask which one was the giant wolverine. Stupid beast. But what could you expect at that age? The old mouse looked about ready to fall over, weighted down by his lopsided smile. Clearly, this Sarkleyet didn't know when to let his help go. True, good help was always hard to find, but you needed to let go when it begun to rot.

The giant stood, his chair squeaking with relief as the weight finally disappeared. "Aye?"

"Master Sarkleyet wishes to see you in private."

Antonio at first thought he read a bit of uncertainty, almost fear in the wary glance Aras gave the room, but immediately knew better. Never assume; always be sure. The wolverine exited with the servant and Antonio was left alone with Brull.

"That is quite strange," said Antonio as soon as he was positive their bulky friend was out of ear shot.

"What is?" Brull inevitably asked.

"If he is called Ikaras, why go by such a boorish title as Aras?" Ikaras was much more formal. He couldn't imagine why such a big, lumbering brute like the wolverine would have been blessed with such an eloquent title, but it was much better than Aras.

"The name Aras, if you'll forgive me speaking ill of our more than capable friend, sounds like two syllables had a chance collision."

Brull blinked twice very slowly. Antonio mentally cursed. He had to keep speech simpler, otherwise his…cohorts wouldn't be able to keep up. Still, he had let Brull in by way of talking about their name-deficient partner behind his back. Nothing brought two beasts together quite like gossip.

Completely ignoring the stoat's comments, Brull got back on topic. "Tell me you aren't going to side with that old fool."

Antonio's face elongated in an attempt at looking innocent. "Why, Sheriff, I am quite surprised at your lewd behavior! Our dear Aras is neither old nor a fool, despite his awkward choice in names." After a carefully measured chortle, he added. "Fear not, I knew what you meant. And I want you to know, Sheriff, that I will respect whatever your decision in this matter is as it is your own. But know that, while I will respect whatever decision upon which you arrive, I in turn expect you to do likewise for myself."

Neither Brull nor Antonio spoke for five long seconds. The rat was the first to exit, wordlessly, but with a stiff walk that told Antonio all he needed to know. The stoat would have to be more careful in the future if he was to further gain the good Sheriff's trust. This guided his mind to his standing with the others and the choice that was no doubt looming just down the path.

A line had begun to be drawn between the ten. On one side were those concerned with remaining safe and possibly assisting the city; on the other side were those intrigued by this Red Brandy and the power promised by it and Sarkleyet. By claiming neutrality, he would upset neither side, yet he knew that he would have to align himself eventually.

His wandering eyes fell upon the table centerpiece and the stain. Worrying about which side he would pick would be a problem for another day. He crossed over, knelt down and began to rub at the spot with all the strength his arms could muster.

~*~

Eventually, Antonio had to admit defeat from the damned spot. The stain was so long inset into the wood that it would never come out, even if a beast as strong as Aras attempted. There was a thought though. Maybe he could convince the wolverine to try to clean up the mess when he returned. That way, Antonio might not lose sleep over it that night.

It was then that he remembered the wolverine's exit what had to be … he cast an eye to the window, seeing that the sun was nearly set. Aras had been gone for a good while. Curiosity piqued, Antonio decided he had better go find the giant and see what was about. The stoat got to his footpaws, cast the infernal stain another scathing look – _Knave, were you a woodlander and had I a sword, I would have destroyed you by now!_ – and exited the room.

Further down the hall, he could hear somebeast arguing, yelling almost. At first he thought it was perhaps Brull who had no doubt left earlier to convince the others of the dangers following Sarkleyet entailed. But these voices were different and, distorted by the mansion's aging walls as they were, the Sherriff's voice was clearly not among them.

Antonio stole closer, his head cocked to one side, his right ear raised. One of the voices was female and the other was a male. And was that vase off-center?

The stoat averted his eyes, not wanting to look at the cursed object sitting upon a shelf on the opposite wall. It was ugly, the patterns all off, something only a beast of rank low taste would choose and therefore no concern of his. He had more important matters to attend to, chief among them listening in on this argument. Yet the wretched thing called to him, shouted even, little strings in his mind pulling him like a marionette towards the vase until he was already half way across the hall.

Quickly, he nudged the vase back into place. All was right with the world. Now, he could listen back in on the conversation.

But now the vase next to it was out of line.

Great beards of the fates, this was a waste of his time! He should be concentrating on plotting and gathering information, not trying to futilely re-arrange the plebian possessions of a self-proclaimed royal. Antonio's paw shot out again, nudging the second vase back into place.

Soon, he was working his way down the shelves, pushing knick-knacks back into the center of the shelf, then progressing onto cleaning excess dust from them, arranging them from shortest to tallest and was just about to start to color code the blasted things when his hip hit against something small, furry and able to talk, as evidenced by the shallow "Umph!" he heard on impact.

Zula Higgins was sitting on the floor, having been knocked over by a careless Antonio. Upon seeing her prostrate form, his anger softened.

"Gratefully sorry, sir, didn't know ye'd be strollin' around at night as well! Thought I was the only one with insom-isomn…inso…"

"Insomnia?" Antonio supplied.

The fox gave a bright smile. "Hoy, exactly right. Insomnia! I knew it was one of those great big words. Always havin' trouble with them, I am."

The stoat felt a chuckle escape his throat, possibly the only one he hadn't faked that day or that wasn't laced with contempt. He helped her up carefully.

"Quite alright. Some of the finer words of the aristocratic vernacular occasionally escape me as well." Said Antonio. Then, noticing the agape and slightly eschew features of the fox, "I forget words as well, sometimes."

"Well, thank ye' kindly for pickin' me up! G'night, sir!" Zula began to dash down the hall with wild, flopping bounds when Antonio stopped her again.

"Zula?" he called without turning.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do try to be careful, whatever happens."

"Okay, sir!" she said in a voice bright as dawn.

Antonio rolled his eyes. She didn't seem to understand. "Zula."

He heard her feet come to a stutter-stop. "…Yes, sir?"

"If anything should happen, you can always come to me."

"…Alright. G'night, sir!"

She still didn't seem to comprehend, but Antonio would settle for that much. He had seen how the others regarded her. It was quite obvious none among the group, with the possible exception of Ms. Pearl, thought highly of Ms. Higgin's intelligence, and Antonio had to agree; she was a bit of a nit-wit. But with this assumption came another and Antonio could almost sense that the others had thought it, because he himself would have; those of weaker minds made useful tools. No doubt somebeast would try to manipulate her, use Zula to their advantage. But she was a child. You did not manipulate children. That was not how the game was played.

Heavy pawsteps sounded through the hall. The stoat turned to behold Aras lumbering towards him. Damn it all! He'd forgotten his previous mission amongst tending to his habit. Surely that was to be his downfall one day. Best to make the best of the situation as he could.

"Aras, my esteemed comrade, good evening to you!" Antonio said, his words dripping with artificial heat.

"Evenin'."

The stoat noted how Aras's features – lowered, furrowed brow, sagging cheeks and lips, lowered ears and all – proclaimed clearly a sense of distress. Antonio stepped in closer, stopping himself from putting an arm about Aras when he realized the wolverine was too large and too filthy to try and physically comfort. "I could not help but notice your more than glum features. Was there something Master Sarkleyet said to you that is distressing you?"

"No," said the wolverine all too quickly.

Antonio nodded, patted the wolverine's arm gingerly. "Well, that is good to hear. Tell me, though, what was the reason for the meeting?"

"Nothing special," was all Aras would reveal.

Antonio probed further. "Not special? Forgive me for contradicting you, my friend, but you are, at least to my knowledge, the only beast with which our esteemed guest has privately conferred. How is that not at all … 'special'?"

"It just wasn't. Besides, I'm not the only beast he's talked to privately; I heard him say something about wanting to talk to Sybil next."

Did he now? Well, that was most illuminating. Antonio apologized for assuming too much, never could tell sometimes, read into things far too much for his own good, he was sure, and walked away from the conversation, heading straight for Sarkleyet's quarters.

Why Sarkleyet would invite two commoners with which to have an audience rather than an equal such as himself was perplexing. He could at least see Sarkleyet speaking with Dirano; although not aristocracy by any means, at least the cat had made an effort. But Aras and Sybil, the two most unkept beasts out of the lot? Antonio couldn't fathom it.

Quite in fact, the thought raised a raw feeling of frustration to the back of his throat. Letting the feeling subside, he crept with slow, measured steps down the hall, up the stair past the study, along the wall to the room he presumed Sarkylet would be in. There was no use letting the feeling overtake him, especially after he'd already sabotaged himself earlier by giving in to his desire to adjust the shelf.

Voices, or at least one voice, resonated down the now widened hallway, telling Antonio that he was near. A door, cracked open slightly, invited his footpaws further. His ears pitched forward to listen.

"…Wasn't funny the first time, let alone the twentieth time. Come on, you left me alone for years, why are you starting up again now."

Antonio's face twisted sideways in confusion. Had he not only met Sybil today? Of course, this was assuming that he was currently in conversation with the female marten, yet Antonio heard no trace of her voice. He didn't hear anything, save Sarkleyet's droning.

Where the stoat expected a response from whomever Sarkleyet was speaking to, there was only silence. Creeping closer to be sure that he wasn't just missing words lost by the semi-thick walls, Antonio heard Sarkleyet as he continued, "Don't encourage him Sulat, you degenerate little vulpine!"

Than an eruption. "Dammit, would you all let me alone! I had almost gotten used to you being around all the time, but then Selene comes back again after Nevyeer dies, and now Twisttail won't leave me alone long enough for me to get any work done!

Banter between Sarkleyet and the quiet continued, the silence remaining un-filled even as Antonio stood not three paces from the door. The stoat listened only a few more moments before vacating the hall.

Now there was no question about it – Sarkleyet was mad. A smile burst across the stoat's face. This meant that he would be more susceptible to trickery once the Red Brandy was secured. After all, as he had reminded himself before, beasts of feeble mind were more susceptible to manipulation and madness did not tend to afflict those with great intellect. Even if Sarkeleyet was smarter than the stoat suspected, no doubt he would be able to use the marten's affliction to his advantage.

It was decided. Antonio Calceterre would go with the team assigned to retrieving the Red Brandy and he would use Sarkleyet's weakness against him to steal it.

First things first, though; he needed to make it back to his room and confer with Brull and Aras, insinuate himself further into their company and become their friend. More friends meant more creatures to watch his back.

More bodies to take the blows.

En route to his room, Antonio's footpaw caught against something, nearly pitching him from the ground. Through careful maneuvering he was able to keep his balance and remain vertical. Adjusting his neckerchief, he stared at the beast that had almost caused his literal downfall.

"Well, I did not at all expect to see you out at such a late hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?"


	18. It's the End of the World as We Know It

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 16. It's the End of the World as We Know It**

_by Aras_

Aras followed the servant down a corridor, through a door, and up a groaning staircase. The old mouse scooted along with a curious slant, as though his greying head was being dragged forward and it was all that his paws could do to keep up.

Aras cursed the scuttling peon. The interruption could not have come at a more inconvenient time. Brull was a hotheaded fool, and doubtless would take the opportunity to preach his views unopposed during Aras' absence. If the rat managed to sway the other fugitives his way, they all stood to miss out on a great opportunity.

Cresting the steps, the second floor hallway loomed before them. Aras regarded it cautiously, trepidation pushing back his residual irritation.

The corridor was long, panelled with a strange dark wood. Impassable doors lined the walls, great carved things with a foreboding countenance. The carpeting was thick and red, with strange swirly designs embroidered along the edging. As his eyes roamed along it, Aras couldn't help getting the impression that he was being pulled into the throat of a colossal serpent. With a deep breath, he padded along after the servant.

"Study's just down this way," mumbled the mouse, turning abruptly into a passage on the right.

This hallway was smaller, and lit by a series of small wrought-iron lanterns. For some reason, they had been spaced slightly too far apart, so that the pool of light from the first didn't quite reach to that of the second, resulting in a series of pitch-black gaps across the floor. The mouse scurried on ahead, melting into a patch of darkness.

Eventually, the mouse stopped at an imposing door, and rapped twice. The faint bong-ing sounds echoed through the cavernous hall.

"Wolverine is here as you requested, master," the old mouse called.

"Ah, wonderful! Send him in, Dahlen."

Dahlen grinned through crooked lips, and motioned Aras through the door. It briefly crossed Aras' mind that the mouse seemed to be perhaps the only beast completely at ease with being in the same room as a beast of his size.

Though it was still twilight, the study was shrouded in black. Sarkleyet was silhouetted in candlelight, hunched over a large writing desk. Light glimmered faintly off the bindings of several bookshelves adjacent to it. Without turning around, Sarkleyet waved Aras towards a squat cushioned stool.

The seat groaned beneath his weight as the wolverine settled onto it, and then there was silence.

"The Fates have been most kind," the marten finally said, apparently remaining enthralled by his desk.

Aras took the bait. "How so, sir?"

"Well, you, of course!" beamed Sarkleyet, swivelling about in his chair. "Of course, 'you,' meaning 'all of you'. Who could fathom that one liberation raid could possibly bear such exquisite fruit?"

_Incredible,_ Aras thought. _Even when he's sitting still, he struts._ "Which particular fruits might those be, sir?"

"Oh, I dare say there are few. Take the rather fetching Sybil, for starters. Pine martens as a species have a tendency to be gifted climbers. Her youthful agility and acrobatic prowess ought to come in handy during the coming events."

"Perhaps," he agreed.

"And there's the snake, who could prove to be useful in any number of situations. Just think of it! A serpent can squeeze into places the rest of us would never think possible. Rescues, retrievals, spying, the possibilities are boundless!"

"Boundless," Aras agreed.

"As well, there's the stoat, and the rat, the wildcat who's been attempting to stare you to death all evening, and the rather vile lizard. Miss Pearl's connections in Evnakt could prove very useful, should she choose to join us, but I must confess a nagging doubt. As for the other one..."

"She'd make a wonderful doorstop, sir."

Sarkleyet blinked at him awkwardly. "Was that a joke?"

"Er... sort of." _No. Not really._

The marten rallied, and continued his monologue. "Amusingly, we have a wolf in our midst. And, wonder of all wonders, there's you, an actual flesh-and-blood wolverine. Wolf and wolverine, who could fathom it? When Kione reported today's events to me, my first reaction was to believe that I had heard incorrectly. But, to my surprise and delight, Red Dusk is indeed playing host to two natives of The Circle."

This was surprising. "You know about The Circle?"

"I consider it the duty of any intelligent thinker to know as much about the world we live in as it is possible to discover. Historical documents, in particular, are a distinct passion of mine. Tell me, Aras, what do you recall of the history of the wolverines?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." This was, unfortunately, true.

The marten made a scolding _tch_ sound. "Unfortunate. It is my belief that to know about oneself, one must know where one comes from." Sarkleyet continued talking, one paw idly stroking the arm of his chair. "It really is quite a fascinating tale. Permit me to enlighten you, if you don't mind."

The marten reverently lifted a tome from his desk, smiling as though recounting the accomplishments of a favored child. "This volume is indeed a treasure. I acquired it from a tribe of seafaring wolves from The Circle known as the Kota. It is, to my knowledge, the only existing account of The Circle's history in the whole of Mossflower. Including, I might add, fascinating details about your species."  
Aras felt an icy claw of dread pierce his heart. _He knows. He knows the wolverines eat meat, and he's toying with me. _

Sarkleyet adjusted the lantern, spilling light onto the book. The marten's paw turned the pages delicately, almost reverent. "Ah, here are... 'Thoughout the history of the Circle, for the longest memory of the quill, the lands of ice and snow had been a monarchy, serving under the beasts known as the wolverines. The wolverines had ruled over us in The Circle, maintaining their power by the strength of claw and fang. Their strength unrivalled, their power uncontested, it seemed that the wolverines were invincible.'"

"'But!'" Sarkleyet held up a finger, "'Every dynasty must have their pariah, and the wolverines found an impressive one in Gulo the Savage. Following the death of their father, Gulo's brother treacherously stole the legendary Walking Stone. Outraged, Gulo assembled the strongest fighting force in the northlands, and vanished over the horizon in pursuit. Did he ever catch up with his brother, or reclaim the Walking Stone? It is possible. All things are. But the days streamed past, and the season of blizzards came and went. Still the Savage failed to return. The great seas had swallowed up our leader, our strongest warriors, and our symbol of power. Nobeast knows what happened to them.'"

Sarkleyet's voice took on a sardonically piteous tone. "Of course, anybeast chancing to read the histories of Mossflower's Redwall Abbey would discover the answer. Their recorders detail the mysterious appearance of a ravenous goliath from across the sea. They go on to relate how a series of tactical blunders led every last one of the Circle's warriors and, ultimately, the Savage himself to the slaughter. Most unfortunate."

The marten turned his attention back to the book, and continued to read. "'And so, the Circle awoke from our collective delusion, and for the first time we realized the devastation caused by our monstrous rulers. Taking up arms, the beasts of the Circle united, and rebelled. The wolverines were killed or driven out, as one beast their species was fractured and scattered to the cold northern winds.'"

"'And thus,'" the soft voice continued, "'ended the reign of the _meat-eaters_.'"

The book thumped closed, fracturing a deafening silence.

"I believe that we have an understanding, Aras. It's an elementary deduction from your stony countenance that you'd rather not have the populace of Evnara aware of your dietary concerns, and while I personally find the idea of consuming my fellow creatures deplorable, I see no reason to sound the alarm. And I strongly suggest, Aras, that you do not give me one."

The wolverine's heart sank as the pieces fell into place. _Of course. That's what this meeting is all about. Keeping the big players in line._ Aras couldn't believe the irony.

"Wonderful," Sarkleyet grinned. The marten began slowly rubbing his paws together, slipping one over the other in a silent victory celebration. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to have a beast like you assisting with the recovery of the Red Brandy. Now, please, enjoy the remainder of your evening. Tomorrow is sure to be an eventful day."

Aras nodded curtly and excused himself. As he stepped back into the hallway, he suddenly remembered the round bulge in his pocket. On an impulse, he wrestled it out and held it up. By the lantern's light he brushed some of the acquired dirt and grime from the stone in his paw. It was roughly disc shaped; about the size of an apple. The jewel was dark red in color, as though a large drop of blood had frozen in midair.

The stone had ridden unnoticed in his pocket for the duration of his serial imprisonments, apparently. It wasn't too surprising. His tunic was frayed and completely caked with filth; Aras might never have discovered the gem had it not fallen from his pocket earlier in the evening, during Sarkleyet's impassioned plea for everybeast's assistance.

Sybil had snatched it up first, her eyes shining as she turned it this way and that.

Aras had reached forward, hesitantly. For a brief second before passing the stone over, the pine marten's paw had clenched around it, as though not quite willing to release it.

"It's beautiful," Silisk had purred.

_No._ His instinct spawned the words in his head. _No, it's not. It's not beautiful at all. It's... treacherous. _

There had been something... foreboding, about the stone. Still was.

But it was no matter. It was only a stone, after all. Aras crammed it back into the pocket of his tunic, and headed for the stairwell.

The floorboards creaked reproachfully as Aras slipped into the bedoom.

It was dark, save for the dull yellow wash of a candle. The room was curiously empty, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Aras sat on his bunk, his head spinning. He felt conflicted. It was as though everybeast had latched their claws into him, and they were all pulling away in different directions. Major Calderon wanted information. Sarkleyet wanted the all-important Red Brandy. Just now there had been the ermine Antonio, questioning him with absurdly pretentious warmth. Others wanted him to fight, to protect. It seemed that quite a lot wanted him to die.

And all he wanted to do was remember.

He thought back to the dream he had had on the ship, the one with Narkus and the gull. His only concrete memory of... well, anything. In some ways, he resented it. If one piece of his past could be recovered, that meant it was possible that the other memories were still there somewhere. His mind had locked them away, and Aras was powerless to find them. Aras loathed the feeling of powerlessness.

The wolverine stretched out along the bed. The cot was too narrow, and the blanket was rough and scratchy. Though, he would begrudgingly admit, it was far superior to any of his recent sleeping environs. He closed his eyes, poring through the events of the day.

Underneath the binding, the wolverine's arm still stung, bringing to mind unpleasant recollections of the battle.

_When the fighting broke out, Aras had purposely hung back, hesitant to get involved. He was walking a very fine line with Major Calderon's trust, and it was vitally important that he avoid doing anything to upset that balance._

He had watched impassively as the wolf Rea had collapsed against the wall, beaten aside by Jibe's polearm. The otter continued lashing out at her, fuelled by pure rage.

One of the other prisoners, he'd never know whom, had shoved him.

"Do something! Anything!" the stranger had screamed. The voice had sounded hollow, as though the words were reaching out to him from far away.

The wolverine had stumbled forwards, unsure of himself. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't a warrior. He didn't know how to fight!

The words reverberated in his mind, over and over. "Do something!"

So, Aras did something. Rushing forward, the wolverine brought his arm up and around, striking downwards as the hammer pounds the nail. He recalled how warm the otter's fur had been, the crushing, snapping sound of bone breaking beneath his fist. Jibe had slammed backwards, crashing to the floor. Within seconds thick, scarlet blood had begun to seep. It ran down Jibe's muzzle in a thick dark ribbon, pooling on the hallway floor.

Aras' heart had begun to pound in his ears, faster and faster until it was a steady roar. His breath had become ragged, uneven. The instinctual beast within screamed at him to leap forward, finish the job. His mouth had watered, craving the succulent meat and blood it had been denied for far too long.

Oh, the blood...

But the part of him that was still Aras, the part that could think and reason, had held him back, restrained the primal instinct and shamed it into submission.

The Long Patrol had had him unjustly imprisoned, interrogated, drugged, and finally coerced into this insane situation, because of murder. The worst thing Aras could do now was to throw away his chance at absolution. He would never give the cottontails an excuse to believe they'd been right all along.

So he had torn his gaze away, forcing himself to check on the huddled wolf.  
After the battle, the vixen called Pearl had insisted on bandaging the gash on his arm. The mistress had been gentle, delicately binding the cloth. She had called him brave.

He tugged off the bandage. The fur underneath was sticky and red, matted with drying blood. The vixen was wrong. Aras wasn't brave. Brave beasts led the charge at the start, and fought to the finish. He had had to be forced into action, and had fled for his life.

By candlelight, Aras scraped away the faint beginnings of a scab. Sweat began appearing on the wolverine's brow as he wiped the gummy pus from his claws.

Aras gently applied pressure to the torn flesh, wincing hard. The cut was deep. A rivulet of blood quickly welled up between his claws, trickling down his arm.

Aras had lost his memories, and along with them, his life. He had lost the experiences, lost all of the faces and the sounds and the pictures. Along with them, he had effectively lost his family, his friends.

And now, he would gladly lose his blood, because he could not afford to lose his mind.

He craned his neck, suckling at the wound. He felt the warm, wet liquid spilling onto his tongue, mixing with his saliva. The wolverine swallowed gratefully again and again, revelling in the oasis.

Finally quenched, he tried clumsily to re-tie the bandage. This was only a temporary solution, he knew. Soon, very soon, he would require a proper meal.

But for tonight, Aras would sleep. And as he slept, perhaps he would dream, and as he dreamt, perhaps he would remember.

And soon the blissful waves of rest overtook him.


	19. Dedicated to the One I Love

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 17. Dedicated to the One I Love**

_by Pearl_

_While I'm far away from you, my baby,  
I know it's hard for you, my baby,  
Because it's hard for me, my baby,  
And the darkest hour is just before dawn.  
_

Pearl missed her granddaughter. She wanted more than anything to get out of this place and find her. But if she had to stay here for one night, it was somewhat consolatory to walk the halls of Sarkleyet's mansion and see that the storm had not left the old pine marten unscathed. The vixen could see where repairs had been attempted. It seemed that the patron of her old rival was not so high and mighty after all.

She had been perfectly civil to him in public as she always was. Now that she was alone however, her mind returned to the fact that he nearly ran her out of business while her competitors leeched off his funding.

Her wandering was not completely aimless. The vixen had been here before and there was one room she wanted to scrutinize more than any other: the ballroom. This was the place where she had attended so many business owners' Seasonday parties. It too had suffered damage, but looked as though it had not been high on the priority list to return to its former glory.

"What have we here?" Pearl whispered into the silence of the room after a cursory scan of the walls. A single shelf remained, hanging rather precariously with a blue and white pottery vase balanced on top. "Not very sturdy, that," she observed, and with a gentle prod of her paw she tipped the shelf ever so slightly.

The resulting crash brought a smile to her lips and several beasts running. The first to arrive was the master of the estate himself followed by a couple of servants who went right to work on removing the mess from his sight.

"Oh my dear Sarkleyet." The vixen altered her expression to match the concerned frown he wore. "It seems as if no beast escaped from the wrath of the sky and seas."

The marten crossed the room and looked disdainfully at the shards of the porcelain before he gave her an answer. "I believe your establishment was also. . . affected?" There was annoyance in his tone.

"We were fortunate enough to have a few of our patrons donate the means for the repairs." Pearl couldn't resist the smug smile that graced her muzzle. She had achieved her objective in striking a nerve. "It really doesn't matter all that much though because as you may have heard, I have decided to retire from _the business_."

"Yes." Sarkleyet watched as the mouse and squirrelmaid cleared away the last of the shattered pottery. "I had heard. A pity. Of course it is difficult to carry on with a business if one's employees leave because they can no longer tolerate bullying."

The servants hurried away without a backward glance at the arguing vermin.

The vixen's eyes widened and her tail bristled. "I will have you know that . . ." She wanted to lecture him on how everything she had done, even if she had been a little strict, had been to protect those girls from the likes of that alley cat Dirano.

The fact that her management practices were so widely known was a surprise, but she mastered herself, cleared her throat, and answered him with a piece of gossip of her own. "As difficult, I'm sure, as continuing business when all of your employees snuff out due to the effects of the experiments you're performing on them."

"Well what do you know?" The marten drawled, not letting her needling rattle his cool manor. "All you've ever done is herd a bunch of whores. You don't know anything about real power and responsibility!"

"Responsibility?" She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you've done a really good job of that. All those experiments you mess around with, it was probably you that brought the madness down on all of us."

To Pearl's surprise, he hesitated. Was it true then? Did the plague really have something to do with this Red Brandy nonsense? "Perhaps we should have called it 'Sarky's Madness'?" she added more accusingly.

"I don't have time for this," the marten sniffed. "I have a large organization to run. Why don't you go find some way to keep yourself occupied that doesn't break the furnishings?" He sauntered off towards the door but called back over his shoulder, "I'm sure your type of experience wouldn't be much help in planning an attack on the woodlanders' head quarters."

_The headquarters? But that's where. . ._ "Wait!" she ran to stop him. "What do you mean?"

Sarkleyet turned curiously back to face her. "Surely you would like to see them wiped out as much as any of us? They did incarcerate you after all."

"Yes, of course, but they've got Sandy in that place!"

He smiled in mock pity. Of course he didn't know who Sandy was. Perhaps he thought she was one of the Oasis girls but his answer angered Pearl more than anything he could have said about her personally. "We must all make sacrifices, my dear."

"You . . ." the vixen couldn't think of a word vile enough to fit him, but once she saw Rekkua coming down the hall, it came to her in an instant. "Zattaka!"

He laughed as he continued on his way. "Colorful language."

Pearl would have followed after him and questioned him further if she hadn't been stopped by the monitor.

"You are t'e one who knew Zaika?"

"Y-yes." The vixen watched Sarkleyet walk off, still trembling a little and then tried to calm herself as she focused her attention on the other female. "It wasn't much, really. . . I was in the right place at the right time to help your uncle hide from the harbor patrol. We got to talking. . . He mentioned you. He told me that clan and family are the most important things we have." Pearl wished she had heard that advice long before and really listened to it.

_"Pearl! Pearl!" The young fox called, aggravating his mother's headache._

She pulled herself off the chaise, determined not to waste the time she'd saved up for her son. "What is it, Jasper?"

"I just wanted t'talk to you, Pearl, an' show you somethin'." He was always so excited when his mother found the time for him.

The vixen blinked a couple of times to rid her vision from the fog of tiredness and drink so that she could really look at her son. "What did you want to show me?" she asked and then sobered quickly and reached out to gently touch the blue-black shiner around the kit's left eye. "Jas, what happened to you?"

"It was my friend Di. He called you a whore, so I belted 'im." Jasper smiled at her proudly.

Her first response was probably not the best. "You didn't tell him I'm your mother, did you?"

"No, of course not. You told me never to tell anybeast."

"Yes, of course." She patted his shoulder. "You're a good kit, Jas. Looks like you're good scrapper too, just like your dad."

Jasper batted away the paw that ruffled his ears. "Tell me about him, Pearl! Tell me about my dad the pirate!"

"Not now, Jas." Her headache was making its painful presence known again. "I'll tell you all about him after I've had a rest."

"T'at Zandy iz your family?" Rekkua tilted her head to the side questioningly. The sound of her voice jolted Pearl from the memory.

"Yes. She's . . . my kit." The vixen's voice almost broke. Perhaps all the pressure was finally getting to her, but for some reason she felt that she could trust some of the truth to this monitor. "The woodlanders took her away from me."

A string of Varan curses sprang from the lizard's lips and Pearl hurriedly led her back through the ballroom and outdoors to the veranda beyond so that Rekkua's raving would not disturb the others. "Filt'y Zattaka! T'ey dezerve deat'! T'ese woodlanderz took my brot'er and clanmate."

The vixen crossed to the stone railing that enclosed the portico, great chunks of which had crumbled away since the last time she had stood here. This spot had once looked over a grand garden but it had given way to a tangle of weeds and brush. "Don't worry," she answered softly but with determination. "We'll get them back, your family and mine."

"You go back to town, not zerch for brandy?" Rekkua asked.

Pearl snorted. "I wouldn't help ol' Sark for a boatload of pirate treasure. That damned marten can clean up his own mess."

A noise then came from the bushes that startled both of the females.

"What t'at?"

"Somebeast is out there. Who are you? Show yourself."

There was a moment of silence and then a voice called back in a horse whisper, "It's just the two of you there, right?"

Pearl looked around, caught Rekkua's eye, and shrugged. Then she answered, "Yes, we're alone. Why? Who are you? Why are you hiding there?"

Slowly a creature that may have once been a dog-fox stepped from behind the overgrown hedge. He was dreadfully thin, and there were great chunks missing from his coat where it looked like the fur had been scratched away by his own claws or teeth or even a blade. His wide staring eyes kept darting from side to side as if he thought somebeast would jump out at him at any second. Probably most alarming, though, was the fact that he was missing an ear. Every few seconds, he would bat at the space where his ear should have been, as if trying to shoo an insect or rid himself of an annoying sound.

The vixen gasped. _It couldn't be . . ._ "Jasper?"

The martie shook his head. "No, no, I'm not him. . . knew him, yeah. He was with us for a bit . . . but it was . . ." He startled and looked around warily. ". . . He didn't make it. Some of us did, though . . . more'n you'd think. You sure there's no other beast here?"

"Quite sure." Pearl stepped forward without actually looking around. This creature had known Jas. Perhaps he had been with him when he died. _Did he mention me in his dying breath? Of course I wouldn't know. I wasn't there for him then. I was never around when my son needed me._ "If it's Sarkleyet you're worried about, he was here, but we argued and he went back to his study. Please tell me about Jasper."

"Who thiz Jazper?" Rekkua asked, reminding the vixen of her presence. The monitor didn't seem at all bothered by the fox's haggard appearance, though he skirted away from the lizard.

"He is . . . was . . . my son." Her voice broke. Her son was truly gone. She would never see him again and she hated herself for all the times she sent him away, telling him she was too busy.

"Yeah," the martie interrupted. "Yeah, Ms. Pearl. He said you was his mum."

"He told you?" She didn't even notice that the fox had called her by name. Perhaps Jasper had told these others so much about her that this one just knew who she was. Surprisingly it didn't anger her that Jas had revealed her identity. It warmed her heart to know that he would claim her.

"We don't none of us keep any secrets. Our old lives don't matter too much." He was still looking around with obvious paranoia and batting at his missing ear.

"You zay t'ere'z more of you?"

"Oh yes," he nodded frantically. "But that marten Sark can't know about us. No, no he mustn't know. He – he must never know about Nevyeer bein' our leader."

Pearl had been lost in her own memories of her son but at the mention of the name she gasped again. "Nevyeer's alive?"

"You won' tell 'im, will ya?" The dog-fox stepped forward, fear in his eyes as if he knew he had revealed something he shouldn't have. He grabbed her paw, pleadingly.

It was the vixen's instinct to pull away from this horror but she forced herself to stand. "No, o-of course not."

"That's right." He held on tightly to her paw and smiled a rather deranged smile. "You said you'd never help 'im. I heard ya. But you could help Nev. You could come and see 'im." The young fox started to pull the older female away with him.

"I couldn't," she pulled her paw away and heard Rekkua hissing defensively behind her. "I mean, not now. There's going to be an attack on the woodlander's headquarters."

The lizard's scaly claw gently pulled Pearl back toward the ballroom and away from the martie. "We have family t'ere. We muzt go to zee t'ey get free."

The dog-fox looked around once more, growing increasingly agitated. "But you will come? Nevyeer must know what Sark is up to. That's why I'm here. That's why we watch the mansion. You c-could tell him." He looked close to tears. "Then I wouldn't have to come back here."

Compassion was awakened in the vixen. This young creature was after all so very much like her Jasper. "I'll try."

And then he was gone, stumbling from shadow to shadow back down the path towards the town.

After a moment Rekkua spoke. "Your zon iz dead, Mz. Pearl. You gotta t'ink about your Zandy now."

The vixen knew her new friend was trying to be helpful. "Yes." She wiped away a tear.

"I go find out about attack zo we can get family back." The monitor gave Pearl what she probably thought was a reassuring smile but all those teeth were still a little frightening.

"Thank you, Miss Rekkua."

With that the vixen was once again alone. She didn't like being alone. The solitude did however, allow her to drop her mask and let loose the torrent of weeping that had been threatening to spill over since the woodlanders had wrenched Sandy from her arms.

The release was short lived. A deep voice behind her cleared it's throat and spoke out, "Madam?"

It was probably the surprise of it that caused Pearl to so completely fall back into her old way of addressing a male. She quickly wiped away her tears, ran her paws over her fur and clothing to make sure they were in place and turned to face him. Sensuously she asked, "Was there something I could do for you . . . Sheriff?"

"Whoa!" Brull threw up his paws in defense. "Uh . . . I didn't mean . . ."

"Fates!" she spun back away from him again, covering her face with her paws in embarrassment. "Of course you didn't . . . I shouldn't have assumed . . . I am sorry." She really had to get over this habit if anybeast was ever going to consider her fit to raise Sandy.

"No, I shouldn't have . . . uh . . . snuck up on ya like that. You've had a tough day."

"I have," she admitted, with a sheepish smile.

The rat laughed nervously. "That sorry excuse for a marten didn't help out the situation either."

"You heard that?" Pearl sighed. "No he didn't."

"Well if it makes you feel any better I'm not lettin' him send me on any damned fool quest either."

"You're not going after the Brandy with the rest of them?" Again he had surprised her.

"Gates no!" he exclaimed and then looked as though he wasn't sure if that was sort of language he should be using. "I was actually just sort of goin' around tryin' to see if I could convince anybeast else t'tell the scum he could do his own dirty work."

"Well you've found me." Pearl smiled, glad she had made another friend. "And Rekkua," she added swiftly lest he get the wrong idea.

"I'd certainly hate to be on her bad side." Sheriff Brull looked at the vixen for a second longer as if he were going to say something else and then he shrugged. "Well I'd better get on with it, if I'm going to convince anybeast else to come over to our side."

She nodded. "Of course."

"You. . . take it easy, Ms. Pearl. Don't worry, I've got it under control."

"Thank you."


	20. For every sin, I'll have to pay

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 18. For every sin, I'll have to pay**

_by Dirano_

It was morning already? It sure did look like it, but even a quick glance out a window would prove that judgment false. Time seemed to pass rather quickly here, like an errant shadow. It could just be the lighting though, as it seemed that Sarky kept enough candles burning at all hours. Since Dirano had first lain down, the moon had risen and set into its place for the night. Matters did not seem to be so pressing here though, in this comfortable bed. Dirano felt that he could possibly spend the whole day here if he absolutely had to do so. The ceiling did not even seem to be so bad.

Of course that was because the cat had been staring at it for the past three hours. Sarkleyet had taste, you had to admit that at least. Say what you would about the pine marten, he knew how to impress. Take this bed for instance; it was insulated with the finest feathers available. _Hmph, maybe not that comfortable when you had to share it with somebody else._ In fact, it was rather crowded at the moment.

It was when he felt a paw pushing at him from the side, that he finally had enough. Lifting his lithe body off the bed, he stood up. A perfunctory stretching followed so that he might release the stress off of his back and legs. He was also glinting with perspiration, which was a remnant of the sensual activities he had just engaged in. Wiping himself off, Dirano proceeded to pat himself down, incase; any unslightly particles should be stuck to his fur.

Annoyed, the cat reached for the clean pile of clothes on a nearby chair. At the very least, Sarkleyet's servants knew how to work. It might not have been the wardrobe he would have chosen, but it fit. Sarky you old rascal, whoever picked out those crisp, clean blue trousers or the non-gaudy green vest sure knew what they were doing. After dressing, the wildcat took a last look at the room.

The female cat on the bed was still asleep. Well, she had every right to be. Dirano looked from her to the nice bag of coins in his paw. Not knowing why he did so, the cat removed half of the coins and transferred them to a bag hanging from his trousers. Leaving the original sack on a dresser, Dirano turned and exited the room.

"I must be getting soft or something" He muttered to himself as he walked into the hallway. "I've never done that before, but I do not think she'll notice. It's the same with them all over-"

"Well look who's ready for a night out on the town."

Dirano looked up, realizing he had not been paying very much attention. Pearl was standing in front of him and looking very peeved at seeing him.

"I was," retorted Dirano, "until I was rudely interrupted."

"Well, whose fault was that?" she asked mockingly."You're always in some trouble or another. The Famous Dirano, just once, _once_, maybe you could have paid your bills on time."

Dirano sighed, this was an old story. It was also an ugly story, and there was no love lost between either of them. "Look Madam, I never intended on being here at all. I do not personally want to associate with you and I heartily regret any circumstances that do."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well Dirano, my condolences. You're not exactly an easy person to deal with either. But of course, I guess we'll all have to live with it."

The cat did not want to stretch out this conversation in needless formalities, so he decided to get straight to the point. "The whole reason I'm here is because of you which oddly figures in a roundabout, twisted sort of way. Emma, your girl, is the problem. She went rogue, sided with the woodlanders and turned me in. I am, of course, blaming her conditioning."

Dirano was not prepared for what he heard next, though.

The fox assumed a perplexed stance, but the tone of her voice did not. "Emmy? But how? I hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks! I heard she was dead...Last I knew, Emmy said that she had to find you, for reasons I don't really understand. What did you do, give her a disease?"

"She came to me, you evil witch," Dirano retorted. "Turned me over and got full woodlander privileges to boot. I bet she told them a pack of lies, about how she came from a noble family and other bloody fabrications."

Pearl answered back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, how about that? I should have expected it. I taught her everthing she knows."

Dirano's eyes grew wide. Pearl smiled slightly, unable to disguise the hint of pride in her voice.

"Yes everything," she said. "If she learned as she ought, mayhap she saw you for what you really are, Dirano."

Dirano said nothing, sensing she was merely baiting him.

"Well, if you do happen to see her again, give her my best regards. I would very much like to know how she came back from the dead. I'm sure you would want to see her too…" Pearl stopped, apparently done talking.

Dirano said nothing, his cheeks blushing a bright shade of pink. He walked right past her, heading down the hall.

Pearl called down to him again, just before he was out of hearing: "Marties…she was afflicted by it, when I lost her. How was she when you saw her? Sickly, and pale? Not how you normally like them, right?"

The wildcat turned around, and lifted his paws in a mock placating style. "She was just fine, just… perfect! She was as healthy, lively and energetic as I could have expected. If she had been sick, there was no indication of it."

He was pleased to see the dismayed look on Pearl's face. "She was alive and healthy... and she never came to see me. She lied to me... she lied to you. What else did she lie about?" She sounded hurt, as if someone had betrayed her.

Coldly, Dirano turned his back on her. He did not hear any more sound from her, except the noise of retreating footpaws. He liked her less now than before. What was she doing getting all worked up about some girl? He tried to shake the incident from his memory, and found at that he couldn't. For some reason, the image of Emma burned into his mind.

At the very least he could distract himself momentarily. For who did he see lounging about in this hall but a certain pompous little weasel? Fortunately, Thalliv did not seem to hear the wildcat, until Dirano was right beside him. "Hello there." The wildcat said, in an offhand way. "It's not like the 'Green Death' to be so careless is it?"

The weasel looked mildly surprised at Dirano's sudden appearance. "Evening... Dirano isn't it? What brings you up so early?" The cat couldn't help but notice the mustelid's paws were shaking a little bit. Nervous? But he had seemed so confident yesterday…

"Let's get straight to the point here," Dirano said. "You're Sarkleyet's assistant, right? Then you must know something of his plans."

"Like what?" The weasel asked, clearly nonplussed. "You heard what he had to say last night did you not?"

"Yes I did," agreed Dirano. "There was one tiny little thing the marten left out though… A fairly obvious thing if you ask me."

"What did he leave out sir?" Thalliv pondered. "It seemed to me he was very thorough."

Dirano thought he could have yelled in this dingy weasels face and still not be getting a straight answer."Weapons! Do you think I want to run around the entire city looking for some madbeast's concoction without one?"

"Well... umm…" Thalliv stuttered, clearly out of his depth. Dirano rolled his eyes. What value could this sniveling fool possibly be to Sarkleyet? "He told me, that it was not his concern how you choose to defend yourself. He only asked that you bring the Brandy back in one piece."

"Fool!" Dirano never felt like he needed to yell so badly. He raised a paw, as if to smack the weasel, and then thought better of it. He had just had a better idea. Why start a fight needlessly here, if he could just fulfill his needs elsewhere?

Leaning close in to the weasel's face, the wildcat leered down at him. He took pleasure at watching Thalliv cringe. Speaking in a coarse whisper, Dirano spat out his words slowly and crisply. "Thank your lucky stars I am not going to press you on this…"

The wildcat broke away just as fast as he had come. In his wake was a very nervous weasel, one who couldn't stop his paws from shaking.

The moon was full in the sky again, and the stars were shining bright. The night air was nice and cool, and the breeze felt pleasant on Dirano's back. It was strange to be walking outside at this hour, especially with no one else around. It was a pleasant-seeming stroll, but the wildcat was not engaged in anything as innocuous as that.

The streets were empty of all life, but that was okay. Dirano did not want anybeast seeing where he was going just now. It had been short while since he had left the hideout, and so far, nobody had noticed his leaving. Sure he thought maybe he had seen a flicker of motion as had had made his exit, but it could hardly have been anything Sarkleyet's hideout had been abominably simple. A slip out of the nearest window, and a tramp down an adjoining roof, hardly anybeast had noticed his exit.

Dirano knew just what he was looking for right now. The cat also knew that he had just found it. A small shack, off to one side of the main block of buildings. It did not look very noticeable, but that was the point. Carefully sidling up to the doorway of the shack, Dirano took care to make no noise. With the smallest of creaks, he wedged the door open, and slipped inside.

The interior needed some redesigning, that was for sure. I was dark inside; except for what was plainly a metal hatch shining in reflected moonlight. Dirano lifted the hatch, revealing a flight of stairs going downwards. This was what he was here for, thus Dirano glided down the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs was a well light room, lighted by many candles. In the center of the room sat a wildcat, about Dirano's age, sitting behind a desk. A curtain obscured the back of the space, and most of the walls were filled with busy shelves. Upon seeing Dirano enter, the Wildcat stood up, and made a curt nod.

Dirano walked over to the desk, and dropped the coin sack on the desk. The other wildcat did not acknowledge the fact that he was now richer by a considerable amount.

"What?" Dirano asked sarcastically. "Aren't you going to take the money 'cousin'?"

"You know perfectly well that we are of no relation," the other wildcat sniffed. "This money is supposed to be a bribe for my being quiet?"

"Garredin, you are always such a pessimist," Dirano replied. "One little mention blackmail, all because you were not scientifically detached enough to keep things discreet. Besides think of it as 'payment' for the services you so kindly offer."

"You know I could get slain for this do you not? A beast cannot serve two masters at the same time." Garredin spoke these last words in a frightened whisper.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to renege on Sarkleyet then." Dirano smiled. "But of course, he wanted to monopolize you did he not?"

Garredin's face blanched utter fright. Oh, it was so easy to toy with a beast that could do absolutely nothing about it. But this was just needlessly wasting time, bantering here like this.

"What do you have for me today?" Dirano asked, getting to the point. "I am currently in need of weapons. I came here, because as a 'specialist' in certain areas, you can surely provide what I desire."

Without speaking further, Garredin walked over to a shelf near to him. Reaching up, he retrieved a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. He placed these on the desk near to Dirano.

"This is a crossbow," Garredin explained. "To work the action is not complex or overly daunting. See these levers protruding out of the extremity? Wind these until the whipcord is fully taught. Place the bolt in the nut like so, and aim at your target." Flipping the device over, he pointed out the mechanism by which it was to be fired. "Never, ever, press the trigger until you are absolutely ready to fire."

"This is rather impressive," Dirano commented, taking the crossbow in one hand, and shouldering the quiver.

"It should be," Garredin replied. "I took pains to effect to reduce the size of it so that it would be ideal for carrying. With a modicum amount of skill, a beast could reload twice in under a minute. This technology was lost until now, since I took the liberty of examining the ancient documents of our past to see what could be learned."

Dirano nodded, not really listening. The truth was, something else had caught his interest. Sauntering over to the shelves, he pointed to a series of bottles that were half filled with a dark liquid. "Garry, my dear, are you drinking on the job?" Dirano clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "Though why you think stuffing dirty cloths into the necks will improve their flavor is beyond me."He lifted the bottle of off the shelf for a better look.

"I would be extra careful with that," Garredin put in unexpectedly. "No spirit is this, but a concoction of my own make. This is turpentine, thickened with tar, to make it more flammable. When the stopper is undone, pull out the cloth in the neck and make sure part of it touches the liquid. The other half should stick out of the bottle. If you light a fire to this wick, be sure to aim the bottle at your target immediately."

Dirano grinned, imagining the chaos that would result from this bottle.

"Not in here," said Garredin, seemingly reading Dirano's mind. I promise you though, that the results will be less than pleasant to whoever gets in your way." A hint of professional pride stuck in his voice, however badly he tried to hide it. "I call them my 'Cocktail Special".

"Interesting," Dirano replied, as he really was interested in this. "I will take some of these 'cocktails'

Wordlessly Garredin handed the other cat a belt fitted with slots for six bottles. Dirano nodded, and put the belt on. Then he proceeded to fit each bottle to its slot. This would hopefully not arouse uncertainty since Dirano was a known connoisseur.

"It is well," Dirano said, quite pleased with his newfound weapons. They would serve him well.

When Dirano was sure that nothing more could be said, he started up the stairwell himself.

"Wait," Garredin said from the back "You won't tell Sarkleyet will you? Even though he knows where I am located?"

"Don't worry your little head over it too much, Dirano reassured him. "If I keep my head on straight, the marten will never know."

"It's not Sarkleyet I'm worried about right now. I can't serve two masters, since the whole reason I left the Marten was because _he_ offered me a better opportunity."

"Who?" asked Dirano, his curiosity piqued by the other cats' vague wording.

"You think you are the slyest beast ever, do you not?" Garredin asked rhetorically. "You are nowhere close, as you were being watched the entire time it took for you to visit me."

"I was watched?" Dirano snorted in surprise. "By who?"

"A beast straight out of nightmare," Garredin replied. "He claims ancestry from Zwilt the Shade and Vilaya from the old tomes. That alone should tell you what manner of beast he is."

The young wildcat shivered. He had heard the name of that fell beast on more than one occasion.

Garredin was silent and obviously would not divulge any more information. Dirano, sensing the conversation was over, left the building.

The journey back to the hideout was uneventful, and Dirano managed to slink in the way he had exited. Re-entering his bedroom, he slipped off the weapons and hid them away.  
Then, being careful not to wake the girl, he crawled back into bed. Grabbing a real bottle of spirits off of a nearby desk, he proceeded to take off the stopper.

The noise awakened, the female cat, and she began to make little moans of pleasure. Looking up at him, she smiled, and licked her lips.

Dirano grinned back, and poured some of the drink for her.

"I'd go through hell and highwater for Brandy like this."


	21. The World Shall Taste My Eggs!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 19. The World Shall Taste My Eggs!**

_by Silisk _

Silisk stretched her jaws in a colossal yawn, snuggling her coils deeper into the cushions. _This_ was a castle fit for any lord… or lady, as the case may be.

Despite the first egregious error committed that evening toward her (_A pet indeed!_), the adder was relieved to see that not all of the servants were as erroneous as Thalliv. She had even been given her own bed, in a cushioned basket slung high above the other beasts. It was absolutely perfect for a creature of her standing.

And somehow, incredibly suspicious.

Silisk surveyed the snoozing Rekkua below with a careful eye. Although she had seen furred beasts sleeping before, she thought it especially peculiar that another scaled would choose to sleep with closed eyes.

Twisting out of her coils, she slid down the pillar that the basket was attached to, the only sounds being the velvet whisper of her scales against marble. Once at the bottom, however, the serpent almost wished she hadn't descended; everything was so much taller than she was, and it was highly disturbing. She half-glanced backward to the safety of her bed before swinging her head around and setting her jaw. _Folly! Am I not the fearsome and terrifying wyrm? Nobeast would dare to harm such a resplendent monarch. And aside from that, everybeast should be asleep._

Her mind made up, Silisk glided to the door in a confident, wide 'S' shape. It was only when she actually reached her destination that she realized there was a dire problem.

The door was firmly closed.

Silisk reared her head back and tried to loop herself around the cumbersome door knob, but her efforts were met with failure. She thrashed back and forth in a furious pace, her perpetual glare deepening as she bared syringe fangs at her new nemesis. _A pox on your scaleless, paw-made hide! You dare defy the Serpent Queen?!_

All thoughts of her fellow reptilian guest consumed by an angry blaze, the adder was just about to hurl herself against the door when it suddenly threw itself open, and Silisk was forced to swerve backward in a loop to avoid her skull being ground to a fine paste. She flattened herself against the ground, hissing at the offending door. "Hold! I didn't mean for you to open now!"

"What are you talkin' about, Silly?"

Picking her head off the floor, Silisk tasted the air, although she didn't have to; Zula's accent was unmistakable. "Er, talking? Me? I mean…" she coughed, a rasping hiss in the back of her throat, and raised her upper body higher so that she was level with the kneeling vixen's head. "Anyway, where were you off to at such an hour?"

Zula shrugged. "Oh, just a bit of explorin'. I ain't never been in a place like this before; it's so big 'n fancy. And I just can't sleep knowing I'm in the middle of a real adventure." She blinked owlishly. "I bet you feel th' same way, right, Silly?"

Head and neck swaying lazily, Silisk nodded. "Exactly," she purred, her voice shimmering honey. "I believe I, too, shall go for a nightly jaunt."

Silisk stilled when the only response she received was laughter. "What is the jest?" she growled.

"Oh, nothin'." Zula, it seemed, was a chronic giggler. "Just that you're a good 'un, Silly. I like you."

_Well, doesn't that just take the biscuit._ "And I you." The words were exhaled like vanilla lace. The adder bunched her coils and returned to her original position on the floor. "Pleasant dreams, Zula."

"All right! You too!" The fox caught herself halfway to turning toward her own bed, nearly tripping over her tail. "Oh, I mean, when you come to sleep yerself, mam, not right now and… oh, you know."

Deciding it best to give up, Zula merely flounced over to her bed, making sure not to disturb the sleeping Rekkua. However, by the time she turned around to wave goodbye, the only sign of her small friend was the tip of a scaled tail as it disappeared around the door.

On the other side, Silisk took a moment to silently tout her victory over the unnatural abomination that had dared to defy the Serpent Queen, stretching her jaws in a mock hiss. Only then did she realize the size of the great hall and flattened herself against the cool ground, swiveling her head this way and that to get a better view of her surroundings. _Hmm… a little too cold for my tastes, but elegant and uncluttered. It is suitable, I suppose._ Satisfied, she slid forward, a flash of oil against the perfect white of the marble below.

As she made her way through the halls and corridors, admiring the portraits and oil paintings and even the odd suit of armor, the adder imagined what it would be like to be the Lord of such a manse. _Hold on…_ Silisk stopped for a moment in front of a sconce, basking in the flickering torchlight as she rolled a thought over in her mind. _If this Sarkleyet is such a lord as this décor suggests, then surely he must have… what was the word… vassals! Perhaps he has misplaced a few of them._ The adder squirmed at the prospect, scales shimmering as she shifted her coils. _There has to be one lying around here somewhere that I could perhaps borrow…_

Her mind firmly made up, the adder slipped out of the light and set off on her new quest. Even if she didn't manage to find any vassals (although even a scrawny one would suffice) she decided that a simple bucket of jewels would work just as nicely.

Turning a corner, Silisk was forced to stop at what seemed to be a dead end. However, it wasn't the wall itself, but the painting fixed to it that entranced the adder. The scene of a heated battle was depicted featuring a pine marten in a full suite of chainmail rushing with drawn sword to meet the scythe-like claws of a rearing dragon. Silisk was awe-struck. Raising her head off the ground, she swerved and stretched in a cryptic dance of weaving coils as she worked her way up the frame.

Arching her back in a wide loop, the serpent opened her mouth wide in silent imitation of the mythical creature. _Foolish mortal!_ In the adder's mind, her voice crashed upon the hapless marten like a thunderclap. _You are an insect railing against the heavens! I should—_

The sound of a door slamming snapped Silisk back to reality with a startled hiss, and she banged her snout against the wall in her haste to retreat to the safety of the shadows on the floor. Not that she was frightened, of course. It was all the better to catch a beast by surprise this way, and any dragon knew that the element of surprise was key to a swift victory.

Resting her smarting muzzle against the cool stones, the serpent watched as a female pine marten swaggered into the hall. Silisk huffed; it was only that corsair. Serpentcharmer, she called herself.

She rapped her knuckles on a side-door. "Ahoy! Lemme in or I'll bust this pretty likkle door down!"

The adder failed to see anything particularly charming about her.

The door swung open, but to Silisk's annoyance, the beast on the opposite end was obscured by Kione. Straining, the snake raised her head an inch off the ground, but the marten slunk into the room and the door slammed after her.

The tip of Silisk's tail performed a twitchy dance of agitation. _Stupid door…_ When she was a proper Queen, she would ensure the destruction of any such pesky nuisances in her castle. _What do you say to that?_

The door, naturally, had nothing to say to the mental challenge.

Deciding to call it a victory, Silisk swerved around and glided down the hall in the opposite direction. Although her mind roiled with questions regarding the rendezvous, the adder's thoughts were called to more pressing issues as her stomach gave vent to a gurgle. _Right. Mayhap it's time to pay the kitchens a visit._ The snake chirred as she imagined a variety of eggs, gannet and seagull mostly, laid out in a crystal bowl all for her, a most esteemed guest.

So caught up in her thoughts was she that the adder failed to recognize another beast walking in her direction until he tripped upon her. _The indignity!_ Silisk's icy stare swiveled in the direction of the clumsy stoat, who offered her a genial smile.

"Well, I did not at all expect to see you out at such a late hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Silisk curled her coils into a ball and dipped her head in greeting, pushing back the anger of being un-royally trod on. It had hurt, too! "Would that it were something more special," she hissed. "But as it was, I was just out for a nightly jaunt. I'm afraid sleep does not come easy when a task of this magnitude is placed upon our heads."

Antonio cocked his head. "You mean to speak of this Red Brandy quest, correct?" The stoat nodded, the slightest hint of irritation pawing at his features. "Agreed. It is quite troublesome, this entire situation. I do not like it one bit." He paused for a moment, chanced a look over his shoulder, and then crossed his paws. "And to make matters worse, it appears that our most honorable host is quite mad."

"Mad?" Now it was Silisk's turn to cock her head. "What do you mean?"

"I heard him just now, having a lengthy conversation with nobeast but himself," Antonio scoffed. "It is rather amusing, really. Here we are, prisoners in a mansion, doing errands for a beast completely off his head."

Silisk nodded. "Perhaps we could use this to our advantage..." she murmured, "If our host's mind is as tainted as you say, then why don't we simply put the beast out of his misery once we retrieve his treasured Brandy?"

"An interesting proposal," Antonio mused. "And one that had just come to my mind as well. Even if you or I have no use for Brandy, we would nevertheless be left with considerable power in our paws.

"As for the sanity of our host," Antonio continued. "If his ramblings has not convinced you, then pray listen to this: Master Sarkleyet sent out for two of our number to meet privately with him. Surprisingly enough, they are none other than Ikaras and Sybil."

"The brute and the baseborn tramp?" Silisk gawked; Sarkleyet really _was_ mad. "What is the meaning of this? W-when did this take place?"

The stoat waved a paw in the air. "I saw the former come stomping back from his meeting just now, although it'd be easier coaxing words from a brick wall. The latter should be leaving soon." He tapped a claw against his chin. "What makes those two so inordinately special to deserve private meetings is something I would like to know."

"And I as well," Silisk added. It wasn't fair! Mad or not, Sarkleyet had no right to choose that ugly little guttersnipe over her. "It's settled then; I shall follow her. Nobeast will be able to spot me," she chirred, scales flushing a mottled shade with pride.

Antonio blinked. "Now that," he said, "is the first decent idea I have heard in a good while. You know, madam," he said slowly, "we are more alike than meets the eye. Good minds are difficult to find these days, particularly with the company we've found ourselves in." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be prudent if we were to… join forces?"

The adder tasted the air with her tongue. There was something about the stoat's smile that didn't seem quite right, but it appeared as if he was the only intelligent beast she had to consult with. And at least he was polite.

Friends, particularly powerful, influential friends, were always a nice thing to have.

"An excellent idea," she trilled. "Let us meet again tomorrow. I will find out more about or troublesome host in the meantime."

The aristocratic stoat's eyes slit in pleasure. "Good. Would you like me to accompany you to Sybil's room, madam?"

Silisk flickered her tongue out again. "Thank you, but there is no need." As it was, the pine marten's scent stood out like an inkblot upon a white canvas. She wrinkled her snout; a particularly smelly inkblot. "Pleasant dreams, good ser, and way we meet again on the morrow."

With that, the serpent slithered down the hallway, a look of mission burning in her crimson eyes. The sound of pawsteps on stone caused Silisk to coil up in a shadow just as a rat strode purposefully past. _An escort perhaps?_ Uncoiling, she slithered along behind him.

_I will get to the bottom of this,_ Silisk thought, pupils slit through the fire of her glare. _And I will teach that loutish knave of a lord who he should really respect if he wants his Red Brandy._

Her stomach gurgled once more, mingling with the pain in her back. _And he'd better have those eggs._

A sharp knocking interrupted the snake's brooding, and her imperialism all but evaporated as the Queen took on the practiced role of Spy. Coiled in the shadow of the rat, she waited.

Sybil might call herself a decent thief, but when it came to matters of stealth, there was no besting a serpent.


	22. Support Your Local Gunfighter

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 20. Support Your Local Gunfighter**

_by Brull_

Sheriff Brull had to do some thinking, and he had to do it without the aid of alcohol. It wasn't a matter of choice; all the beer and grog had been hijacked by the local rowdies of the mansion, and this Sarkleyet didn't seem to believe in the importance of a well-stocked drinks cabinet. Glaring at the myriad of ink bottles and quill pens stored in this particular cupboard, the rat stomped sullenly out of the study. What was the point of having money if you weren't going to spend it on the right things?

"Ruddy big house," Brull grumbled as he paced the halls. Not even the Earl's palace was this big. What did some weed of a pine marten need with a shack this size? He wasn't likely to have any female acquaintances to impress with it. Not with that high and mighty attitude of his. Hijacking a group of random beasts and expecting them to bend over backwards to nab some science project he had lost… what a nerve some beasts had.

Hearing the sound of residents chattingly walking down the hall, the rat sidled against the corridor wall until the late night strollers had passed him by. He didn't like these Red Dusk chaps. Seemed to think they were the next Rapscallion Horde. They were already on Sark-whatever's ship, and trying to talk to them would be a minute-long lecture as to why Brull should listen to everything the marten said, ever. The only fresh minds he was likely to find in this place was the other nine beasts he had been locked up with.

Sauntering out to a balcony overlooking the sea, the Sheriff paused to ponder the situation more carefully. The roar of the waves and the sight of the open, unregulated water taunted Brull with its offer of freedom. They could get away, all of them. There was no need to stay and look for this "Red Brandy" thing. All that would do is give the locals another weapon, and that would lead to more fighting, and the last time Brull checked, fighting wasn't conducive to healthier living. If they could make a run at grabbing a ship… all things considered, the rat figured, the prospects of running the blockade seemed more positive than sitting and waiting to catch a near fatal disease, or get run through by hares, whichever came first.

He couldn't do it his own though, Brull thought. Not likely. The docks of the town, not to mention the town itself, were under the lock and key of woodlanders by now. He'd have to break them before he could make a run at getting off this rock, and he'd need all the help he could get. Which meant that he needed to convince his other nine inmates to go with him, instead of the Red Brandy.

At the very least, Pearl seemed to be on the same page. Had more to lose with the town than she would with the Brandy lot. Brull liked the vixen; competent, no nonsense, down to earth, and wasn't an upper class twit. She'd be more focused on saving the Marteroos (or whatever they were called), but could probably be swayed to run for it. The lizard was with them too, she had said. That was good; although Brull usually had no use for cold blooded creatures, he didn't suppose having one on his side would be bad.

Two down, seven to go.

"Aras! Hoy, Aras!" Forgetting to knock, Brull barged into the males' room, catching Ikaras on the verge of slumber. The rat was about to comment on sleeping when there was work to be done, but a heated glare from the large creature compelled him to mumble, "'pologies. Didn't know you were asleep."

Aras didn't look like he was in the mood for chatter. "What do you want, Brull?"

Skipping the small talk, the Sheriff cut to the point. "Look, I know I couldn't sway you earlier, but I think you should reconsider working for this Sarkleyet bloke. He's up to no good…"

"No."

This abrupt denial did nothing to improve Brull's opinion of the wolverine, but he needed Aras on his side. "What does a fellow like you need that weed for, anyway? Take him and his Red Brandy and chuck the lot. We head out of this dump, hop the next boat, and we're off to…"

"Good night." Without allowing Brull to finish his plea, Ikarus turned over and gave the pretence of being asleep.

The Sheriff waited until the wolverine gave a fake snore before taking his leave.

_That was a shot in the paw_, Brull grumbled as he walked from the room. Aras alone could have given the rat exactly what he needed. But the ruddy block head had bought that garbage the marten had spewed earlier. Really, a beast that size probably didn't have the brains to think for himself. Shame.

Gates, Brull needed a drink. Where were the kitchens in this place? Maybe they had some cooking sherry in stock.

Trying to navigate the gargantuan house was proving an arduous task. Every time Brull thought he had found a door to the kitchens, he wound up finding some closet, book storage, or some other means of paraphernalia. Discovering yet another study, of which there seemed to be an endless supply, the rat slammed the door, the sound resonating through the hall. There had to be a decent drink somewhere in this place…

"Careful with the doors, Sheriff. If you break it, you might have to pay for it." Brull's temper was not improved by the sight of Antonio pacing towards him, talking with that same "Holier than thou" voice he had used earlier.

"The marten can pay for his own doors, I'm sure," the rat retorted. "If he can nab a house this size, I reckon he can shell out for a few doors. Fates know he's not spending the money on drinks."

"He has drink, I believe, but you seem to have no taste for Brandy." Antonio smirked at his own play on words.

"I don't, and neither should you," said Brull, reluctantly conceding that, although he found the stoat personally unlikeable, he was at least a willing audience. "Even if we find the stuff, what's in it for us, eh? I don't even know these wretches, and until this afternoon, you didn't either. Why run errands for them?"

The stoat shrugged. "All the same, an interesting venture. Bottled bloodwrath and all that. Might fetch a hefty price."

"What for? The blighter already said it was useless as it is. Who'd want to buy a one way ticket to the graveyard?"

"Sarkleyet, apparently. At the very least, he wants it back enough that he would probably give most anything for it."

The Sheriff furrowed his brow as he thought that over. Most anything? Did that include a trip off of Evnakt? "S'pose once he gets his magic mix, he soups himself up, reckons himself a King, and just puts us out of our misery?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, sadly. And if I do say so myself, Sheriff," Antonio said persuasively, "you seem to underestimate our combined abilities to avoid foul play. We do have a wolverine in our mix."

A harsh bark of a laugh escaped the rat's mouth. "Him? He'll not do anything. Ol' Sarky probably has him on a tether already. Why would he summon a thing that size to his chambers if he wasn't going to make sure it was on his side?"

Antonio blinked. "Most sorry, but to whom are you referring as 'it' and as 'he?'"

"Aras and Sarkleyet, who else?

"No, what I mean is, your use of pronouns is confusing. You interchange them, making it hard to tell whom you are referring to at different intervals."

Now it was Brull's turn to stare blankly at the stoat. What the blazes was he going on about? Probably just some excuse to remind the rat of how very intelligent he was. "Listen, Tony…"

Grimacing as if in intense pain, Antonio bared his teeth at the nick name. "Sheriff Brull, please never refer to me as 'Tony' again. My proper name is Antonio, and I would appreciate it if you remembered it."

Another lecture in phonics? Seething with fury at being talked down to like this, the rat pointed at the stoat. "Right then, Antonio, if you're all done being King of the Castle, I'd like to get us back on topic. Or are you gonna correct me on my posture, next?"

Smiling none too friendly, Antonio stood a little straighter. "You could do with some lessons on slouching, actually, but by all means, continue."

"I'm trying to round up support to grab a boat and head out of here. What do you say?"

Antonio looked disbelieving. "Sail off, just like that? There are an awful lot of woodlanders who might have something to say about that. Do you plan on sailing a ship by yourself?"

"No, I don't. That's why I'm seeing who's with me. And I want to know whether or not you'd be interested."

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Antonio contemplated. "If I thought it possible to achieve with any guarantee of success, then I would agree. However, if you will pardon my bluntness, there are too many holes in this plot. Making it to the docks without being seen? Stealing the ship without being caught? Making it past the blockade without being killed? That is not much of a plan, Sheriff."

With it all laid out like that, Brull confessed to himself, no, it didn't seem like much at all. "Alright, so it needs some tweaking, I'll warrant. But it's either that or sitting here waiting to go mad."

"True, too true. But there just is not enough there to sway me to your side."

This was not the answer Brull wanted. "So hunting for a mad marten's project, which might not even exist, is a rock solid proposal? Seems you're not thinking too carefully."

"On the contrary, Brull, I have been thinking a great deal. And I'll both give your and Sarkleyet's ideas more thought yet. What I will not give you is a decision at this moment in time."

It was an ambiguous, well considered answer that, while looking like a compromise at first glance, would ultimately lead to a negative. Brull had seen the Earl use the exact same tactic when dealing with other nobles. At least he wouldn't have to put up with the stoat's snide voice any more. "Fine, have it your way. Mull it over, I'll talk to the others. Have you seen Dirano any where?"

Antonio wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Probably with a female in a closet somewhere for several minutes of heavy breathing."

Brull shook his head. "That boy needs a tighter belt on his pants."

At least that earned a small grin of approval from the stoat. "Well put. Good night, Sheriff."

"G'night." Git.

Wanting a drink more than ever, Brull shuffled quickly off. This was rapidly becoming a failed venture. Even if he found Antonio to be a nuisance a minute, that was one less beast on his side. Going to bed might have been a better venture at this moment.

And he might have done just that, if, after turning the corner, nearly ran into the female marten from earlier.

Brull was slightly shocked by the sudden appearance of the marten, yet noticed that Sybil's face showed more than just surprise, border-lining dread. Most females didn't handle these sorts of run-ins as well as males. "Evening, ma'am," the rat greeted.

"Hello. Goodbye." Without so much as a nod, Sybil brushed past the Sheriff in what looked like a great hurry.

Brull was stunned by this abrupt brush off, but having just lost both Aras and Antonio, he wasn't about to admit defeat that readily. "Wait just a minute, I gotta talk to you."

"Well, I have absolutely nothing to say to you!" she snapped back over her shoulder.

_Oh, that was cute_, Brull sneered. If he wasn't in need of an audience, he'd give Sybil a piece of his mind. "Listen, missy," he shouted, trying not to sound threatening as he walked speedily after her, "I don't know what your problem is, but I've got a proposition that I think you want to hear…"

The speed and anger with which Sybil confronted the rat nearly made Brull jump out of his boots. "Another proposal, eh? Oh, that's fine. That's all I need from you. You've got some nerve."

The Sheriff blinked blankly at Sybil's outburst. "What are you going on about? Is this about the breakout? I know I might have called some beasts cowards, but…"

Sybil sneered at the perplexed rat. "Don't act dumb, Brull. How is that cushy job of yours, by the way? I'd hate to think I went to prison for nothing."

A quick flash of a vague memory appeared in the rat's mind, but disappeared before he could even identify what it was he saw. "What do you mean? Have we… do I know you?"

The look of hatred was replaced by hesitation. "Do you… of course you know me! Remember…" Sybil paused, before remarking with realization, "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Sybil opened her mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and walked quickly down the hall.

"Hey!" Brull called, following slowly at first, and then jogging after her. "Hey! Remember what? What should I remember?" The little wretch was keeping something from him, and he didn't like the idea of some beast other than himself being in control of his memories. Lunging forward slightly, Brull grabbed Sybil's arm, disrupting her bandages slightly. "Talk to me, or I'll…"

"What do you think you're doing?" In an evening where sudden appearances were commonplace, Brull was not completely surprised to find Rea running towards the scene, looking none too happy with what she saw. "Haven't you had enough bloodshed for today?"

His attention diverted from the marten, Brull sneered at the bushy tailed freak-fox. "Can't go ten seconds with getting yourself involved in other beast's business, can you? Take a hike, the grownups are talking."

Not impressed, Rea scowled at the Sheriff. "Oh, yeah, you're a big bad rat, picking on beasts smaller than you. Why not try your luck with someone who can actually defend themselves?"

"I can defend myself!" Sybil cried indignantly, looking none too happy with the wolf's interference. "I've got it under control, thanks for asking."

"I'm on your side! I'm trying to help!"

"I don't need your help!"

"Now bugger off!" Brull roared, who was sick and tired of beasts not listening to him.

Instead of buggering off, Rea grabbed Sybil's other arm in an attempt to drag her away. "I'm not going anywhere until…" Her voice trailed off suddenly, which was odd; even odder was that Rea had stopped looking at either the marten or rat, and was staring intently at the wall behind Sybil's shoulder.

At first annoyed with what he considered an act, Brull started to become concerned with the strangely comatose wolf standing in front of him. "What's she doing?" he whispered.

"I have no idea," said the equally perplexed Sybil.

They waited a little while longer, looking for Rea to make any kind of movement at all. Finally mustering up the nerve, Brull gave the wolf a small, harmless poke, just to check if she was still alive. "Hoy, miss, you all there?"

Rea was not only all there; once she came too, she began to yell in a blind rage. "You traitor! You corrupt little vermin! How could you do that to me?!"

It seemed that the wolf had started contracting symptoms of the local madness. Releasing Sybil's arm, Brull back up slightly. "It was just a little tap to make sure you were breathing…"

"Thought you could get away with it? And you did too, didn't you?! Didn't he?" Rea looked at the marten for support, only to find she was just as confused as Brull. Calming slightly, the wolf lowered her voice. "You… did see, didn't you?" A few more bewildered looks, compelled Rea to tuck her tail between her legs sheepishly. "No, I don't suppose you did."

Perhaps unwisely, Brull took this moment to voice his thoughts. "All we saw was some young diva making a spectacle of herself. Now are you going to beat it, or are you planning on breaking into song?"

Glaring at the Sheriff, Rea did start to walk away, but still held the arm of a heavily protesting Sybil. "Hey! What're you doing? Let me go!"

"You're coming with me. You don't need to be around… that!"

"You're nuts!"

Seemingly at a loss for words, Rea put her paw over Sybil's shoulder and led her down the hall. Smirking at his small verbal victory, Brull remembered with a start what it was he was looking for in the first place. "Hey! Either of you keen on helping me out with a plan?"

"Go to Hellgates!"

All things considered, Brull should have seen that coming.

Not having the heart to continue his hunt, the rat sulked back to his bunk. The now genuinely asleep Ikaras was the only other beast in the room right now, his heavy breathing the only sound in the darkness. What a waste of an evening. No one but Brull seemed to know exactly the danger they were in. Laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, he tried to focus on furthering his escape plan, but caught his mind constantly going back to Sybil. She knew him. Did he know her? He had seen hundreds of pine martens over the seasons. Maybe he had her brother hanged or something. No, she said she had gone to jail for him. What did that mean? Brull didn't remember anything like that. He mulled over his career, trying to remember anyone potentially connected to Sybil. No, nothing was coming up in that timeline, not from this moment on the island, to when he became Sheriff after solving the museum robbery… with that young female marten…

Sheriff Brull was momentarily paralyzed as he remembered exactly where he had seen Sybil before.


	23. Old Janx Spirit

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 21. Old Janx Spirit**

_by Rekkua_

Find the meeting. Learn when they were attacking the cursed woodlanders. When she was with Pearl, that was a solid plan. Unfortunately, Nevyeer's mansion complicated things.

Rekkua stalked down the hallway, pawsteps resounding with purposeful agitation. _How many rooms are in this place?_ She had stalked down more hallways than she could count, traversing a path she could never hope to retrace. The distinct lack of other living creatures from whom to ask for directions did nothing to help. Nor did her devoting half her thoughts to forming an opinion about Pearl.

The vixen was different from other _Zattaka_. _She doesn't treat me like trash. Reminds me of Colbarr – no, it's more than that._ Rekkua paused, considering, thinking over their conversation. It was odd. At times, Pearl had seemed like a helpless hatchling, snuffling for its first meal. Just as often, though, she reminded Rekkua of her mother – kind and caring and exuding an aura of confidence. _Her and Uncle Zaika must have gotten along well._ She smiled at the thought, a sibilant chuckle sliding from her mouth.

Someone else laughed, too. It was drunken and spilled from an open doorway, gritty and harsh to Rekkua's ears. How such an ugly thing could indicate merriment was beyond her. Pushing past the door, she strode into the room and stopped, surveying the gathered corsairs. It took approximately two seconds for the laughter to die away.

All eyes on her.

_Great._ "T'iz iz meeting for fighting woodlanderz?" Much as she despised asking these furry invaders, she needed their help if she hoped to free her brother and Sandy.

A lady pine marten – Captain Serpentcharmer, if Rekkua's memory served her correctly – swaggered over, hat teetering perilously on her head. "Hey there, Scaly. This the meetin' fer takin' out 'em woodfellers? Woulja like t'know?" She leaned in towards Rekkua, a grin splashed across her muzzle.

Deep-voiced titters ran through the room as Rekkua's head weaved away from the pirate captain. The furball's breath tasted vile! Whatever it was they were drinking – no doubt a foul _Zattaka_ creation – wasn't fit to nourish ants.

Captain Serpentcharmer chortled, breath rolling over Rekkua's snout, and swigged from a ceramic mug. She winked at Rekkua, spreading her paws expansively. "Course this isn' th' bloody meetin'! Save those fer th' mornin', aye? Right now, s'time t'celebrate a job well done." Her grin went carousing around the room. "Innit that right, boyos?"

Mugs and bottles rose towards the ceiling, buoyed upwards by shouts and cheers, contents sloshing in a reckless attempt to find the floor.

Rekkua found her lips curling back of their own accord, and the rest of her expression followed suit. Here these furbeasts were, congratulating each other on a job only half completed. "We iz wasting time! My brot'er and clanmate iz ztill prizonerz! You didn't zave t'em today! T'ere's no time to zit and laugh!"

Captain Serpentcharmer thrust a flagon at Rekkua's face. "Nothin' we kin do 'bout it righ' now, Scales, so lighten up an' drink wi' us! Not th' best grog, bu' gets ye jumpin' righ' quick."

Rekkua stepped back, yellow eyes wide with disgust, fear, anger, and a pinch of confusion. "You zpect me to drink t'at?"

"Shore, why no'! Leave th' plannin' fer tomorrer. Plenny o' time t'save yer frenns."

Rekkua shoved the bottle away. "I not drink zomet'ing zo vile!"

The room burst into renewed laughter. A ferret managed to gain control of himself long enough to shout out a slurred challenge. "I 'eard ye folk couldn' 'old yer drink! Gar, din't think t'was true!" He lifted his tankard, grog disappearing into his fuzzy maw.

Rekkua's narrowed eyes locked on the ferret. How dare he insult the Varan! Her anklet jangled as she moved forward in one, long stride. An enormous wave of satisfaction rolled over her as he lowered his drink and nearly choked at the pillar of brown scales towering over him. "You t'ink Varan can't hold our drink? You t'ink wrong! We Varan grip like eel. Not drop anyt'ing, even drinkz."

Somebeast tapped her shoulder. "S'at righ'? Well, why don' ye prove it, Scales." It was Captain Serpentcharmer, again offering the flagon.

Rekkua hissed as it was pushed against her tattooed chest, the cold pottery frigid against her scales. "Fine!" She snatched the container, its contents surprisingly heavy. _If this is what it takes to uphold my clan's honor._ Turning in a slow circle, she raised the ceramic vessel with both paws in plain view of all. "Zee? We Varan hold our drink juzt fine!"

The moment of silence as the meaning of this statement filtered through several layers of alcohol lapsed a moment later into unabashed, roaring laughter. Guffaws, snickers, cackles, chortles, and banging of mugs on tables drowned out all else as Rekkua watched in amazement. Were these _Zattaka_ mad? Was this the Martin's Madness of which Colbarr had spoken?

Captain Serpentcharmer straightened from where she had doubled over on the floor, wiping her eyes along the way. Between titters, she explained to the befuddled lizard. "No, no, tha's not what it means t' 'old yer drink, matey. T' 'old yer drink, y'gotta drink it."

An unexplainable chill spread through Rekkua's veins as she stared at the dark liquid between her paws. _Drink it? This horrid stuff?_

"Whatsa matter? I saw ye fightin' t'day shore as th' day is long, an' wasn't no fear then. You 'fraid o' a liddle drink, aye?"

Rekkua tried to glare at the speaker, couldn't figure out who it was, and glared at Captain Serpentcharmer instead. "I iz Varan! Varan not afraid of anyt'ing!"

The corsair's smile had gone crooked, half of it sinking into a sneer. "Go on then! Prove it, Scales, matey!"

_I will!_ Powerful tail flicking with agitation, Rekkua lifted the jug up to her lips, hesitated but a moment, and drank. The first fiery sip exploded on her tongue, burning its way down her throat before coiling into her belly, heavy and foreign.

It tasted as bad as she thought it would, sharp bitterness cutting her tongue like a dagger. She nearly dropped the flagon, gasping as she blinked away tears. Her ears filled with roaring, and it was some time before she realized it was the laughter of the corsairs.

"Whatsa matter? That all ye kin 'andle?"

Her mind cried out that it was, that there was no way she would drink another drop, but what came off her tongue was quite different. "I iz zimply catching my breat'." Not quite sure why, Rekkua again lifted the jug, this time drinking long and deep. Now that she knew what to expect, the burning was not quite as bad, but it still left her coughing and spluttering.

This time, the container did drop, tumbling and rolling along the floor, a thin trail dribbling out.

"Cor! 'E drank th' 'ole thing!" There were mutters and murmurs of amazement as wobbly gazes sized up the monitor anew.

Rekkua's closed eyes opened, glassy and unfocused. The whole room shifted around her, and she reached out to steady herself against a chair. Her throat throbbed, the taste on her tongue reduced to a dull blade. "Worra thizzz?" She managed to focus on a grinning marten in front of her, one that looked familiar. "Zerrrpentcharmerrr, worra thizzz?"

Captain Serpentcharmer's muzzle split into a grin that wove from side to side in a most erratic fashion. "Tha's th' fines' grog we 'ave t'offer, Scales, an' y'jest drank a 'ole flagon o' it."

Someone patted Rekkua on the back, sending her staggering straight into the corsair captain's arms. She sagged and stared up, blinking lethargically. "Grooog?"

"Tha's righ'. Warms yah up, don' it?"

"Warrrm…" Rekkua realized that Serpentcharmer was right; whatever this grog was felt like it had seeped into her blood, removing every chill. It felt very pleasant, as if she was lying in the sun on a nippy day. "Yezzz. Warrrm."

_No, this isn't why I'm here! I need to free Kiaza!_ She tried to clear her head, but only succeeded in slowly shaking it from side to side. "We free my brot'errr now?" Her head flopped back to stare into Captain Serpentcharmer's eye, but had difficulty because it refused to stay in one place. "Yezzz?"

"I tol' you, matey. We'll plan tomorrer. Now s'time t' 'ave some fun. 'Ave 'nothe' drin'!"

A mug found its way into Rekkua's right paw, a bottle into her left. She looked at the mug, not quite comprehending. "I don' wannnt morrre of…" Her words trailed away as she emptied the tankard, grog dribbling from her mouth down her chest. Now it was the room that would not stand still. "I… gooo…"

Thrusting the empty cup at the marten in front of… table. That was a table, not a marten. Having thrust the empty cup at the table, Rekkua found herself meandering down a hallway.

The walls were fascinating.

Her tongue wagged about, tasting all it could. _The walls taste like…taste like whatever it is I drank._ She smacked her lips; whoever flavored the walls knew what they were doing. Her muzzle smacked the wall and was still. Just the right temperature, too.

Slowly, slowly, Rekkua crept along, neck stretched out as she nuzzled the wall. Every bump and dip was discovered, each one leaping out and falling away from her. One dip, in particular, fell especially far away, and Rekkua went tumbling after.

Blinking, she stumbled to a halt and looked around at the sudden light that surrounded her. Several blurry figures danced and twirled towards her. She hissed at them. Strong paws gripped her, pulling her, leading her to a cushioned seat. So soft.

"You alright?"

Rekkua stared into the concerned eyes of someone; she couldn't quite figure out who. Her tongue flicked out. Something. There was something there. "Whazza zmelll?"

Whoever it was looked away, probably exchanging glances. "What smell?"

Rekkua pointed at the ceiling, at the wall, and at a blurry blob, frowned, and finally dropped her head to gape at a tray not a foot away. The taste was stronger from that direction. She tried to move her paw to point that way, failed, and had to move it with her other. "Whazzzat?"

"The scones? Practically just crumbs after Sybil got to them."

"Zconezzz?" She scrabbled at the tray, finally managing to grab hold of a crumbly something. Bringing it close to her snout, she licked it.

Heaven.

Her taste buds exploded, the flavor cutting through the previous taste of grog. _These taste better than the walls!_ Rekkua actually giggled aloud. It was warbly and sibilant, but definitely a giggle. She regarded those around her, brow furrowed and tone serious. "Izzz zconezzz."

= = = = = = = = =

The headache woke her - a heavy pounding somewhere behind her eyelids like a thousand woodpeckers searching for a worm. When she opened her eyes, light burned them, and she promptly closed them. With a groan, she rolled onto her side, away from the light, and again tried peeking through squinted eyes. It was not quite so bad this time, and she widened them further.

She found herself staring at a chair, the grain of the wood dizzying. A patchwork blanket covered her – and why was she lying on the floor? Moaning, she slowly sat up, supporting her head with a paw. _Great snakes…what happened…?_

Everything came rushing back so fast she had to lie back down. A bottle clinked and tipped, contents beginning to churn out. She cursed and swiped the bottle off the floor, wrinkling her nose with distaste at the dark liquid that spread along the floor. _I can't believe I drank that._

Throwing the blanket off, she used it to mop up the spill. Rekkua clambered to her feet, deposited the bottle on a chair, and caught her reflection in a mirror. Her tattoo lay obscured behind sticky liquid and caked-on crumbs that covered her entire chest. She flexed her claws in agitated annoyance.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up." Rea stood framed by an open window, a scowl marring her features. "Had a nice rest in our room?"

"No."

"Good. After the way you killed that otter yesterday, I hope you never sleep well again."

In absolutely no mood to reply, Rekkua simply hissed and retreated from the room. After several minutes of irate wandering, Rekkua discovered a courtyard that was the very picture of serenity. Pillars rose overhead, holding up a ceiling of blue sky. Vines climbed the walls, green leaves sparkling in the warm sunshine. But the thing that held Rekkua's interest was the round patch of sky on the ground, rippling in the light breeze. Stalking to it, she stared at the water. It looked so very clean and inviting. She stepped into it and sighed in relief.

A short while later, feeling much cleaner and refreshed, headache reduced to a manageable ache, Rekkua finally found Captain Serpentcharmer amongst a small group of corsairs, her paws a blur as she shook something up and down. Something clinked and rolled as the marten released the cup, sending its contents spinning onto the cobbled floor. As one, the gathered vermin bent down to examine whatever it was. After a moment, Captain Serpentcharmer cried out in triumph.

"Haharr, that's me win, mateys!" She glanced up, caught sight of Rekkua, and grinned. "Well, look who it is! Mornin' to yah, Scales! 'Ad a good sleep, I hope?"

Rekkua scowled, not even bothering to reply. "We have meeting now to attack woodlanderz, yez?"

"Easy does it. Yesterday was a bloody success. We deserve a break, savvy? Get back to us in a coupla days." With that, Captain Serpentcharmer returned her attention to the game.

"A couple of dayz? T'at iz too long!" Lips curling into a snarl, Rekkua stepped forward, claws curled and menacing. A dagger found its way to her throat and began testing how ticklish she was.

"Easy does it," Serpentcharmer repeated, now tall and daunting. Her eye glinted like her dagger – hard and cutting. "Like I said, jest wait a coupla days. There'll be another attack, and you kin be a part of it."

Rekkua's eyes flicked from the pine marten to her subordinates, now with weapons much in evidence. She growled and finally took a step back. "_Zattaka._" It was a muttered curse, but Captain Serpentcharmer still heard it.

"That one o' your fancy lizard words, Scales? Always thought yer language was an ugly 'un."

This time, Rekkua outright snarled and nearly charged before remembering the assorted weapons all around her. She gritted her razor teeth and ground out a response. "Very well. I come for you in a couple of dayz." _I'll come for you, alright._ Rekkua whirled away, tail nearly broadsiding a stoat, and stormed away.

Of their own accord, her feet carried her to her room and set her to pacing in small, agitated circles. She hardly noticed it was a different room than the one she had woken up in.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

Rekkua froze and stared at the small, bespectacled fox staring right back with wide, innocent eyes. She had seen the vulpine creature the day before during their escape; she had had the snake around her neck then. And now here she was addressing a Varan with what Rekkua had learned was a title of respect. Was it possible she was one of those furbeasts who actually did not look down on reptiles?

_Perhaps…_ Rekkua leaned in to peer at the fox. _She looks the same as Pearl to me._ "Iz your name…Zandy?"

The fox laughed. Surprisingly, Rekkua did not find it annoying. "Nope! I'm Zula, I am! Zula Higgins. Pleased t' meetcha!" She stuck out a paw, grin full of innocence.

_Ah, right! This is some kind of furbeast custom. A sign of mutual respect._ After a moment's hesitation, Rekkua's paw reached out to Zula's, the fox's fur feeling incredibly soft against her scales. "I iz Rekkua of Clan Jahk. Pleazed to – mee cha."

Zula giggled and pulled Rekkua after her. "Well, that's settled, then! Let's go! Breakfast is ready, an' m'mum says it's awful bad manners t' be late for a meal! Silly already headed down!"

And so the fox and monitor lizard made their way through Sarkleyet's mansion, one practically dragging the other.


	24. You Can't Handle This

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 22. You Can't Handle This**

_by Zula_

_...you'll see savoir faire!_

Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. Zula, like any other beast, was well aware of what these words meant. The only difference between Zula and any other beast all boiled down to the simple fact that the vixen no longer cared. She'd heard her mother use these words many times before to describe her, though they were more often than not coupled with their more colorful cousins. She was not surprised to hear her new friends use these words against her either. While she knew the definition of such words, the young vixen had heard them so many times it was almost as if she didn't really hear them anymore. They all just sort of ran together, like so much meaningless white noise.

Zula rolled out of bed and pulled on her clothes and spectacles. The others were still asleep as she padded over to the mirror and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, pawing at her oversize ears and her messy fur.

And anyway, the vixen thought as she squinted satisfactorily at her habitually unkempt appearance, some beasts got angry and needed a target to unload their anger on. It was a fact of life and she wouldn't hold it against them. Other beasts, like her mother, just never ran out of ammunition.

Sarkleyet's mansion was like something out of a dream. It had soft beds, delicious food, and all sorts of intriguing artwork to keep Zula occupied for a lifetime. Zula wandered through the halls, admiring various portraits of aristocratic looking creatures. Then she noticed it.

A vase, as vibrant a green as she had ever seen, perched innocently on an ornate table halfway down the hall. She scuttled automatically toward it to get a closer look. Inlaid gold patterns sparkled enticingly, dancing in the vixen's amber eyes. Where did Sarkleyet find such a treasure? She knew better than to touch it, knew her mother would flay her within an inch of her life if she did so, but she couldn't help it. Besides, one little touch wouldn't hur—

Crash.

"What was that? Who's there?" a voice demanded.

Zula froze, her mind reaching desperately for an excuse, any excuse, as a big rat lumbered around the corner. She kicked pottery shards under the table and smiled nervously, just glad it wasn't Thalliv or Sarkleyet.

"What're you doing, following me?" the rat growled.

Zula's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, I know you, sir, you're Sheriff Brull, aye?"

"You didn't answer my question," Brull snarled. Then he shook his head. "I should've known they'd send someone after me. Probably want to know all the little details of my plan after all. Those females know how to play dirty..."

Zula absently scratched her ears. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but ah...I don't know what you're talkin' about?"

"Don't you?" Brull chuckled. "It should be common knowledge by now that I'm planning to steal a boat from the woodlanders. I've talked to most everyone by now, but they'd rather go chasing after a mad old marten's made up treasure than help me, it seems."

Zula watched the rat, her smile faltering somewhat. She felt sorry for him; she knew what it was like to be gung-ho about something and not have any support from her friends.

"Oh mister Sheriff sir, I'm sorry no one's helping. Why...I could help you!"

To her great surprise, Brull laughed. "You? Listen, kid, that's awful nice of you to offer, but er, I was hoping to get some beasts with a bit more..."

"Brains 'n' muscle?" Zula offered.

Brull considered this, shrugging awkwardly. "Well...yes."

Zula shrugged. She knew by the look on the rat's face that her guess couldn't have been that far off. "All right sir, it's your mission, but did y' know I was the only one in that little room back there with a weapon?" She pulled her knife out of her pocket and waved it aloft. "An' I found the spot Miz Rea broke through t' talk t' you all! I may not be the biggest or strongest, but I know I c'n be dead useful if'n I try hard enough."

Brull looked taken aback. "You snuck a weapon into that place? How did you manage that?"

Zula tucked the blade back in her vest pocket and hugged the tatty garment close to her. "They tried t' take m' vest," she mumbled, staring at the broken pottery around her footpaws. "But Gericault wouldn't let 'em."

"Gericault...?"

"He's m' friend. He's an otty—er, otter. One o' them, but...nicer."

Brull's face slowly broke into a massive grin. "You mean...you've got a friend on the inside?"

"Guess so," the fox said with a shrug, pushing her massive spectacles back up her muzzle. "Why?"

"Well, Zula...It's Zula, isn't it?"

"Aye."

"Well, Zula, forgive my underestimation of you. I would love to have your help."

"Really?" Zula gasped, dashing forward and hugging Brull about his considerable waist. "Oh thank you, mister Sheriff sir! I'll be helpful, I promise!"

"I'm...sure you will," he said, prying her off and looking about to make sure no one had seen the unflattering display. "Well, see you around, Zula."

With that, he hurried off.

Soon after, the vixen and Rekkua went downstairs together. Zula proceeded to tuck in to the best breakfast she'd ever eaten, stuffing scone after buttery scone down her maw.

"Going to save any for the rest of us?" Pearl asked, seating herself at the table with the faintest trace of a mocking smirk on her lips.

Zula washed down the scones with a gulp of tea and smiled. "Oh Miz Pearl, you sound just like me mam, you do. She never ate much either; always thought she'd get too fat. Is that why you're not eating much, mam?"

Pearl, who'd been halfway through a sip of her own tea, spluttered, "The nerve!"

"'Course, she never let me eat much either then," Zula continued. "Sure 'n' I never saw the point o' starvin' since I know I'm not fat. Neither was she and neither are you o' course, Miz Pearl."

Pearl said nothing to her for the rest of the meal.

She saw Brull enter and smiled at him, waving. The rat inclined his head slightly in her direction in response before turning and loading up his plate. She'd help the poor beast, no doubt about it. He wouldn't regret having Zula Higgins on his side.

end of week one.


	25. The Bitter Cure

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of week two.

**Chapter 23. The Bitter Cure**

_by Sybil _

_NOTE: Even though all the other posts are taking place in the morning, this one takes place in the night. Just pretend that this took place right after Silisk's post, ok? I wanted to post it then, but I had already posted before and some of the other characters wanted to go on to morning. So, don't yell at me for this and we'll sweep this little mistake under the rug, okay? ^^;_

It was absolutely unfair. How was she expected to sleep in the same room as some savage wolf and a whore? Sybil kept to herself on the bed in the corner of her room, tearing at a scone with vengeance. Her entire life had been like swimming upstream, but recently it had become something more like a mad struggle against a torrent with a shark not far behind. One thing led to another, with the arrow wound first, becoming a prisoner second, ending up in the forsaken island third, and to wrap it all up, she had _Sheriff_ Brull to deal with.

_I can handle the li'l bilge rat m'self. I could've done that earlier if that wolf hadn't stuck its ugly snout where it didn't belong._ Sybil looked up from her thoughts, eying the wolf sitting to her left, Pearl's bed between them. The quiet creature had its legs drawn up, chin resting on its knees as if deep in thought. Ever since its insane babbling outburst with Brull, it had been this way- not that Sybil cared, of course.

As if sensing somebeast watching, the wolf raised its head. The marteness turned away that very second, not wanting anything to do with the mongrel. It was suffocating, this silence. If there was any time Sybil preferred the vixen to talk, it was now. But of course, the useless old hag was sleeping, stupidly oblivious to the danger within the room.

"Did you see what I saw?" the beast inquired in a soft voice, as if it had courtesy and didn't want to disturb the vixen's slumber.

"See what?" the thief asked tersely.

"That... that dream of the rat. That..." The wolf paused for a second. Two seconds. And then it shook its head and sighed. "Nothing, nothing." At that, Sybil let her shoulders relax, but then the wolf fixed its hungry gaze on her again. "If you don't mind, could you tell me what happened between you two?"

"Don't feel like it," the marteness said in a dry voice.

The savage looked down in disappointment. "I understand. It must be personal." Another pause. "What are you going to do? Are you going to fight against the... 'woodlanders' or are you going to help find the Red Brandy? I myself... I'm not sure."

"Why are ye tellin' me?" Sybil snorted. "That Sark-whatever's mad an' the sooner I find a way to get off this island the better. I'm not gunna fight an army and I'm definitely not dyin' fer a damned drink."

The creature blinked at her. "It's probably better that you think that. You should stay away from this Sarkleyet. In fact, we should _all_ stay away from him. Whenever he's in my presence..." It stopped for a moment, frowning as if trying to recall a memory. "Whenever he's around... I think I feel the air thicken."

Sybil had to fight to keep herself from snickering. _Heh. This wolf's loonier than the fox brat._

_Clunk clunk clunk!_

The sound made both the marten and the wolf snap their heads towards the door while the vixen simply rolled in her sleep. There was a little bit of silence, but another round of knocking followed. Sybil first looked to the wolf, to the door, and then to the wolf again. Neither beast moved. _Seems like the savage doesn't even know what a knock is. Stupid brute._

The marteness hopped off her bed, keeping an eye on the wolf as she crept toward the door and turned the knob. A gangly rat in over-sized clothes waited outside.

"Miss Sybil, ain't it?" he asked in a gruff voice.

The marteness nodded. "Yeah? What'cha want?"

"Master Sarkleyet wishes to have a word with ye," the servant told her. That itself nearly made her choke. _That old marten wants to have a talk with _me_?! What fer? What did I do? If he's looking for some fun, he should've looked for that old hag._

"No." A slamming door followed her flat answer.

"Hey!" a muffled voice shouted. It seemed as though the rat's courtesy was only paper-thin. "The master wants to give you a job offer ye can't refuse, so git yourself to his private quarters." _A job offer? As what? A personal whore?_ It had been a long time since anybeast had given the thief a task, and from her experience with Brull, she had learned never to accept another. But curiosity tugged at the back of her mind. What kind of job did he have in store for her?

Sybil turned around to face the wolf, smirking inwardly as it stared back at her with questioning eyes. Of course, that mongrel would probably become another brain-dead hordesbeast. And as for the other "guests," they would get the menial tasks of simple soldiers or healers or servants. The fact that the leader of Red Dusk actually sought her out was quite flattering. With that in mind, the marten opened the door.

"Fine," she grunted, stepping out into the hall. "Let's just see what the dirty old miser has to say." The rat servant merely shrugged his skinny shoulders and ushered her down the hall and through a series of passages. During all this, Sybil couldn't help but to marvel at all the halls and doorways. She was sure the place was smaller on the outside, but big as it was, there didn't seem to be anything worth stealing. Nothing except for boring dreary portraits. Who would want a painting of a deadbeast anyways?

Something flit by.

The marten stopped, narrowing her eyes at the corner where she just saw movement. There stood a neat little shelf of trinkets, but nothing interesting. Perhaps she had seen nothing? It might have been the torches throwing shadows for all she knew. She stepped a little closer to the shelf, her curiosity still piqued.

"It's this way. Hurry up!" The rat jolted her attention. She had completely forgotten that he was supposedly "leading" her. As much as he was a bumbling idiot, Sybil had no idea how somebeast could mess this job up. The point of being a guide was to walk in front so that the honored guest could follow.

"Then walk faster, rat," she growled, turning on her heel and following him down a narrow, empty, dark hall. Even though no eerie faces peered down at her, she felt a chill scuttle up her spine. Again and again, the servant seemed to flicker in her vision, sliding in the darkness before stepping back into the sparse candle light.

"Here we are." The rodent stopped abruptly, making a snapping quarter turn before knocking on a large, blackened door.

"Come in," a voice said from the other side. Nodding, her guide turned the knob and held the door open for her. Sybil sniffed in response, stepping into the room. It was huge, but there was almost nothing to fill the space. No jewels, gold, or silver adorned his room. Instead, piles and piles of useless things- dusty furniture, pieces of rocks, and books, mostly - lined only one side of the room. A few doors stood across from her and a plush stool sat awkwardly in the center of the floor. And on the far side, a marten bent over a desk, scribbling madly with a plumed quill in paw while being guarded by two well-muscled weasels.

"What do you want?" she asked in an even tone, noting how the door behind her creaked to a close.

"Ah, Miss Sybil." He seemed to notice her for the first time, though his eyes never left his work. "Please, have a seat." She thought he'd say something like that, try to appear like a gentlebeast. But she wanted to make one thing clear: she was here purely out of curiosity and she wanted to be out of this place quick-like.

"No," Sybil replied, crossing her arms over her chest. If this answer enraged or surprised the marten, he didn't show it. Sarkleyet stayed immersed in his writing, only pausing to stare at another document before continuing his task.

"You said you wanted t'see me," Sybil said in a sour tone. The quill stopped.

"Yes," the host finally acknowledged, raising his head so that their eyes met. "Yes, I did. Ahem, please forgive me for the delay, Miss Sybil. You arrived here sooner than I expected. Now then, I called you here to talk about a proposal of mine." The marten stood up and walked around his desk while his guards stayed rooted to the spot. "Now Miss Sybil, according to some witnesses during your rescue, I understand that you are a skilled acrobat?"

"Only the best," she stated in a bored tone.

"Ah, yes." The host nodded at that, pacing around his desk. "I don't mean to boast, but we martens have climbing abilities that rival squirrels... better than that, even. But alas, my youthful days are over. But!" he said brightly, as if a brilliant idea had dawned upon him. "We have you, Miss Sybil, and your impressive skills would be essential to the Red Br-"

"I'm not doing it," Sybil declared. "I'm not interested in your little scavenger hunt." That bit of news didn't seem to catch Sarkleyet off guard, as a grin soon spread upon his face.

"Oh? Then name your price. What would you like in return for your service?"

"Nothing," she answered firmly. "I'm not stupid enough to go on this wild goose chase an' risk being skewered by woodlanders. Whatever you're payin', it isn't enough to cover my life."

"Interesting..." the elderly marten mused, his nonchalance unnerving the thief. Sybil swallowed, noticing how the weasel guards flattened their ears. "So what shall you do now?"

"Get off the island," she replied carefully, her eyes flicking between the door and the professor's beasts.

Sarkleyet nodded to himself before suddenly looking off to the side, his ears angled forward as if trying to catch a tiny whisper of sound. And as quickly as it came, all traces of tension melted off the marten's shoulders as he continued his pace, stopping right behind his desk. "Of course, Miss Sybil, you may leave if you wish to. I don't break beasts out of imprisonment just to enslave them. Ah, how ironic that would be." Sybil didn't know what the meaning of "ironic" was, but she didn't feel the need to waste time pointing that out when she could slip through the door.

"Is that all?" she questioned, already taking a few backwards steps. "I'm leavin'."

"Ah ah ah!" The call made her stop in her tracks. "How rude of me, Miss Sybil. I forgot to ask you if you enjoyed the scones I sent directly to your room. Some of my favorites, you know. If you want more, you have my permission to take some from the kitchen."

_Huh,_ Sybil scoffed inwardly. _Just like any old fogey, his brain's as gray as his fur._ Looking at him now as he spoke of pastries, she had no idea why she had felt intimidated by his presence in the first place. Without a word she turned to leave, grasping the doorknob before Sarkleyet's velvety voice called out to her again.

"Did you eat the scones, Miss Sybil? Did you enjoy them?"

The thief turned to the other marten, a smirk set on his snout. She gulped, instincts stirring within and telling her that something had gone terribly wrong. As much as she wanted to run through the doors, she had a feeling that the faction leader had something important to say; and this time, it was something that would actually interest her.

"What didja do?" she breathed, blood draining from her face as the marten plucked something shiny from his breast pocket.

"Before you go..." He paused to shake the object between to claws. "I would think you would like to have this antidote. That was some nasty poison you just enjoyed, after all."

"Poison?!"

He nodded sagely, another smirk plastered on his smarmy face. "I did say that, didn't I?"

Sybil wasted no time, rushing at him with a furious scream. The guards in turn ran in front of their master, fists waiting to pummel her to the ground. But the thief was ready for that. Fangs bared and ears flattened, she ducked past a fist. A set of arms sprang to snare her, but she vaulted off the floor, expertly leaping above the obstacle and skidding on top of the desk. A flurry of paper followed as quills and files scattered. The other marten jumped back and yelped something she couldn't discern.

Crouched on his desk, her paw shot down and grabbed something. The marteness lifted the heavy object over her head, ready to deal the finishing blow.

Something jerked her arm and the weapon left her paw, flying with deadly speed before crashing into the wall far from the marten's head. Sybil only had time to gasp before another ruthless force grabbed her by the waist, yanking her off the desk and throwing her onto the floor. She grunted at the impact, stunned and unable to fight back as the weasels hauled her to her feet and pinned her arms behind her back.

"Let go of me!" she screeched, struggling against their grasp. "I'm gunna kill 'im! I'm gunna kill _him_!" By then, Sarkleyet had picked himself off the floor and straightened his shirt.

"Very impressive, Miss Sybil," he stated, piecing his composure back together. "Your skills are certainly promising."

"You bastard," she seethed. "You're insane. You're out o' your damn mind!"

"Not quite so," he responded, showing her the unharmed vial. "Now, there are several things that you should know about the poison." He waited until she finished struggling before he continued. "First, it's something invented by Nevyeer and myself. It's a slow-acting poison, worsening your health a little each day before ending your life after a week. Second, the symptoms are quite nasty: fever, fur loss, impairment of the senses and mobility, coughing up blood... all sorts of terrible, terrible things."

"Stop blabbing and just tell me what'cher want," she spat, her lips pulling back in a snarl.

"Red Brandy," he answered stiffly, tipping his nose in the air. "I want you to aid me in the search of Red Brandy. Serve me well and I'll give you this..." He stepped behind his desk, opened a drawer, and produced another vial. "This is a diluted antidote, enough to sustain normal health for about three days."

"And if I don't?" the marteness growled, tugging at her arm.

"Then you die. However, if you do manage to retrieve Red Brandy and return it to me safely, you get the full antidote and you're free to go."

"Red Brandy? You already have beasts doin' your dirty work for you. You have the vixen and the wolf and..." Her eyes grew round at the memory of the two beasts munching on the elegant dessert. "You poisoned the beasts that were already on your side, you dolt!"

"Indeed," the marten sniffed. "You see, those beasts were simply pawns in my little game of wits against Felldoh's Heirs. They don't have any special skills or knowledge I value, and therefore, they can be replaced by anybeast I pick off the street..." And then he trailed off again, looking out into space, his eyes narrowing in agitation before he brought his attention back to her. "Now, you might want to take this right now." He slid the vial across the desk, nodding at his soldiers. Getting the signal, they loosened their grip so that their prisoner could shake their arms off.

The thought of leaping up and kicking him in the face flashed through her mind more than once, but Sybil knew better than that. The way her wounded shoulder ached and her head throbbed, she was sure she had learned her lesson. Those two guards were simply too much to handle, especially when she didn't have stealth on her side. Carefully, Sybil picked the glass container, peering at the colorless liquid.

"Drink it now," Sarkleyet commanded. "After a couple hours of consumption, the poison would soon take effect."

"And what then?" she asked suspiciously. "What does this do?"

He sighed impatiently. "As I said before, it makes your immune system sustain normalcy for about three more days. This is certainly not the absolute antidote, but it is better than dying." He cracked a smug smile as Sybil uncapped the vial, licking her lips as the options ran through her mind. Nothing. She had no choice in the matter and would have to accept whatever "help" he was offering her. Slowly, carefully, the thief lifted the antidote to her muzzle, faltering before put the rim to her lips and swallowing every single drop.

"What did it taste like?" the professor asked. She replied the mocking question with a venomous glare.

"Hm... I think tasteless would be a good way to describe it," he purred, grinning crookedly as he seemed to hold his breath.

"What's so funny?" Sybil demanded, squeezing the vial in paw. He broke out in a coarse bark of laughter.

"Why, my dear Miss Syb-"

"I'm not your 'dear,'" she shouted, unsettled by his creepy demeanor. "Now stop beating around the bush and talk!" He smiled still, shaking his head as if he were talking to some brainless kit.

"You were so naive, thinking that was actually an antidote."

"What?!"

"You actually believed that I would poison a rare specimen such as a wolf just for a petty 'volunteer?'" he sneered.

Sybil's eyes widened as the truth dawned on her. "So this is the..."

"Poison. Yes." A moment's worth of silence stretched out before Sybil exploded with the most obscene curses imaginable, using every single word that she could get her mind on. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw the glass at his head. Sarkleyet ducked just in time, hearing the container break before tiny shards sprinkled down on him. Sybil struggled with her captors, kicking and lashing her head this way and that in a mad frenzy to bite them.

"I've had enough of this!" Sarkleyet snarled, smacking his desk, no longer content or curious of anything. Instead of that nonchalant marten there stood a commanding officer with a frightening and powerful voice.

"Scream all you want, Sybil," he barked. "The walls are soundproof. Nobeast can hear you and nobeast is coming to your rescue. You do exactly as I say or you die of slow and horrible poisoning."

"Yeah?" she panted, her fight now dead. "And what crazy stuff d'ye want me t'do this time? Pour acid into my eyes?"

"I offered you a chance but you decided to take the painful route. So now I will make this clear- you will _not_ run away according to your original plan" he instructed slowly, giving every word more than enough time to soak into her memory. "You are going to _stay_ on this island and cooperate with the group going after Red Brandy tomorrow." He drew another glass container out of a drawer and slid it across the desk to her. The marten's guards slackened their hold, though they still kept a paw clamped on the prisoner's shoulders. Sybil hesitated, scrutinizing the vial before she picked it up, treating it as though its contents could slip through the glass and penetrate her skin.

"Really, Miss Sybil, there is nothing to be wary of anymore. There's no point in poisoning a subject twice, see?" Sarkleyet paused to clear his throat, ignoring her narrowed eyes as he furthered his instructions. "I will supply you with a few vials of antidote, but after your last one, you have three days to come back for more. Repeat this process for as many times as it takes to get the Brandy. However, if I were you, I wouldn't take my own sweet time on this quest. I would keep in consideration that these antidotes are costly and that I do not have a limitless supply on them. Do your job well and you shall receive the complete and final antidote. Isn't that grand? You get to go home healthy and free."

"And how do I know I can trust you?" she growled. Sarkleyet gave a genuine look of hurt before he chuckled.

"You don't. You have no choice but to take my word for it." He turned around as he snapped his claws. At his command Sybil felt claws dig into her flesh as the guards hauled her towards the door.

"Oh!" Their master's voice stopped them dead in their tracks. "And Miss Sybil, if I were you I wouldn't try anything particularly treacherous. I am, after all, the only beast who knows where the antidote is and how to make it. Should I die, you would join me shortly."

"You just wait," Sybil screeched, kicking her legs harmlessly. "You jist wait 'til I get my paws around yer scrawny little neck. I'll stuff that poison down yer throat and make you eat glass! I'll break off your feet and stick'em on your head! I'll-"

"You'll what?" All movement stopped as both she and the guards looked up at the gloating marten. "You will tell your 'friends' that I poisoned you?" He chuckled at that, shaking his head. "From what I've seen, Miss Sybil, you didn't make a good impression on any beast. What would they do? Why, they would sooner snatch your antidotes and force you to do their biddings, wouldn't they? Of course, that's what I would do."

The thief felt her nostrils flare out. "You-"

"It doesn't matter to me what they do to you as long as you get your job done. Dismissed." And with that, he whirled around, waving the guards off as Sybil burst into another bout of curses, dangling helplessly between the henchbeasts.

The door flew open, spitting out a disheveled figure that nearly collided with the opposite wall. Sybil heard a _slam!_ behind her and once again she was all alone, just the way she liked it.

"Dammit!" she coughed, suddenly feeling something tickle at the back of her throat. Was the poison working past her system already? Sybil looked down, just realizing that she'd kept that vial of "antidote" clenched in her paw the entire time. There was nothing left to lose anymore. She uncapped it and downed its contents. The marten couldn't help but scrunch her muzzle at the cloying, bitter taste.

She dropped the vial, ignoring it as it clattered on the ground. There was no way that she could sneak past the marten's guards and hold a knife to his throat. They already expected her to do something like that, and without the element of surprise she was useless.

_I'm a thief,_ the marten said crossly, _not a bleedin' assassin._


	26. There's Got To Be A Morning After

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 24. There's Got To Be A Morning After**

_by Pearl_

Oh, can't you see the morning after?  
It's waiting right outside the storm  
Why don't we cross the bridge together  
And find a place that's safe and warm?

Crying- or more like whimpering was the sound that awoke Pearl that morning.

"Don't fret, Sandy love. Granmum's here," she mumbled before she opened her eyes and realized that she was not at home. The creature she had heard could not be her own little kit.

﻿The vixen's disappointment was enough to send her back to sleep. She pulled the cover over her head to block out the sunlight streaming in through the partially-boarded window. _But somebeast is crying, I'm sure of it._ She sighed and looked around the room.

The bed to her right, that should have been Sybil's was empty. Then the voice called out again. ". . . Papa . . ." ﻿was the only discernible word among the sleepy ramblings of the wolfmaid in the bed to the left.

﻿"Poor little thing, so far from home." Pearl noticed that Rea had kicked off her blankets during the night. Rising swiftly and silently, the older female pulled the blanket up to the wolfmaid's chin and tucked it around her snugly. It was only what she would expect (or rather hope) that somebeast would do for Sandy in her absence.

The thought brought tears to the vixen's eyes. _Where had the woodlanders taken Sandy? Are they taking care of her? How will I ever get her back?_

Rekkua had said she would help Pearl with the rescue mission. And Sheriff Brull was not going along with Sarkleyet's scheme so he may be of some help as well. That was encouraging. _Surely some of the other beasts were not swayed by this Red Brandy nonsense._ She could inquire at breakfast.

_Speaking of breakfast. . ._ Now that she thought of it, the vixen could smell something tempting coming from the other side of the bedroom door. She patted Rea's shoulder gently and whispered, "Sleep well, Hon." before slipping out of the room to investigate what their host had provided for the meal.

The hallway was so quiet that Pearl wondered if she might be the only one awake at this early hour but then she heard a quiet knocking and a low voice around the corner.

"Breakfast is being served in the dining room." It was the weasel, Thalliv.

The vixen rolled her eyes as the butler rounded the corner and confirmed his identity. He didn't look pleased to see her either. "Ms. Pearl, did you sleep well? I'm sorry if the room assignments didn't allow you to accommodate your customary bed warmer."

_A jibe at my profession? How clever. Like I've never heard anything like that before._ She merely raised an eyebrow. "Yet I'm sure Nelda's girl got a suite all to herself?"

He didn't correct her and only smiled in return.

"Ah, well, I would expect for Sarkleyet to take care of his own investments. Lucky for me I never had to worry about you running off to the Golden Brush. Your tastes always ran more towards Aluteyn Jewelbright, isn't that right?"

Thalliv sputtered awkwardly. "Why would you think. . . I mean it goes without saying that he's a very fine dancer but that doesn't mean . . ."

_Really?_ Pearl's eyes widened. She'd meant it as a joke. _Two for two. First that comment about Sarky's Madness and now this. Maybe I should try my paw at the card tables when all this blows over._ However enlightening his reaction though, it still did not bring her any closer to the task at paw.

"So, breakfast is ready?" she asked, trying to remedy the situation and get away from him at the same time. "How very nice." Without waiting for a reply, she left him there to make his excuses to the empty hallway and walked briskly toward the dining room.

~

_The nerve of that Higgins girl comparing me to her mother!_ Pearl began looking for an outlet of escape so she didn't have to remain in the presence of the younger vixen.

The first creature her gaze fell upon was Aras. And she noticed that all her work to bandage his wound had been dreadfully undone. She hurried over to him and scolded cheerfully, "Now, what have you done to yourself, Mr. Ikaras?"

﻿The wolverine hesitated for an instant, then shrugged. "Dunno. It's fine."

The vixen put a paw on his arm to keep him from running away as she stopped a passing servant. "Could you please fetch me a cleaning cloth, some water, and a fresh bandage for Mr. Ikaras?"

The ferretmaid curtsied and went to do the madam's bidding.

"﻿I just go by Aras," the wolverine huffed resignedly.

"Aras then." Pearl smiled. "Come with me." She led him to an alcove off the main dining room and had the flash of a memory of bringing another male to this same spot for an entirely different purpose.

She shook away the memory and explained, "I thought it would be best to do this away from the other beasts and their breakfast."

In no time, the ferretmaid arrived with the things the madam had requested and Pearl directed her to leave them on a small table. The vixen went right to work silently untying the old bandage. Her muteness was mostly due to the fact that she was trying not to breathe in the scent of the blood. The sight of the shallow cut would normally have been enough to send her into a swoon, but she managed to stay on her footpaws and continue her ministrations.

"Are you a healer, then?" Aras asked.

Pearl chuckled. "Not in the least. Generally the smell . . . being around blood or sickness . . ." She made a face to illustrate her discomfort.

He laughed at some irony she was unaware of. "You're the brave one then."

The vixen looked up at him curiously, not understanding his meaning.

"Yesterday, you called me brave. I'm . . . not."

She saw something in his eyes then: that restraint he'd had during the battle. "Sometimes bravery is _not_ doing what our instinct first demands," Pearl said.

He was quiet, not even wincing as she finished cleaning the wound and then began to tie on the new bandage. He started to speak, stopped himself, and then went ahead. "Is it true, what the cat said? Are you . . ."

Pearl took her paws off the wolverine's arm and turned away with a sigh. "I was . . . but not anymore. I gave it up . . . didn't want Sandy, my kit, to be brought up around that sort of thing."

He nodded and she watched him. It was funny that Aras had not elicited the same response out of her as had the sheriff and any number of other males through the years. _But what was it he had said? "You shouldn't talk to a lady like that." Right after he punched Dirano._

Her expression dissolved into one of wonder. "Just like Jasper," she whispered.

Aras looked up from the bandage he had been inspecting. "Huh?"

Pearl shook her head and smiled. "Nothing, I -" She bit her lip and her tone became more serious."I swear," she promised to him. "That I will never fall into that lifestyle again." She hoped that her conviction would also inspire him to abstain from whatever it was that she had seen him trying to control during the battle.

"Now." The vixen's smile returned and she patted his paw. "You really should have something to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

The wolverine looked distastefully toward the dining room. "I'm not really that hungry, ma'am."

"Nonsense, come along." She pulled him toward the sideboard where all sorts of foods had been laid out by Sarkleyet's servants for the guests to choose and partake at their leisure. Pearl took a plate for herself and shoved another into Aras's paws. "Look at all this. There must be something here that would strike your fancy."

She began to fill her own dish expecting him to do the same but when she turned back to see what he had chosen, he had gone. The plate she had given him lay there empty on the table and the door out to the courtyard swung wide has he exited through it. "Oh well," she sighed. "He'll eat when he's hungry, I suppose."

The vixen carried her own heavily laden plate over to the table. _Might as well bleed everything out of Sark that I can while there's the opportunity._

She noticed the plate on the table next to her own before she looked up to see the creature to whom it belonged. It intrigued her that the diner had gone to the trouble of making sure that each different type of food was segregated to it's own specific position on the dish. Her gaze followed the fork as it made it's way up to the muzzle of the stoat, Antonio. Then she continued to watch as he proceeded to finish all of one type of food before he wiped his fork with a napkin and then started on the next excruciatingly neat pile.

It was then that he noticed her staring. He wiped his mouth needlessly with his napkin before he spoke. "Is everything quite alright, madam?"

"Yes." Pearl cleared her throat and turned her eyes to the haphazard jumble of food on her own plate. "Yes everything is fine. It's a lovely morning don't you think?"

"Indeed." The stoat went back to his own meticulously arranged meal and the madam pondered, _If that's how he likes his vittles, I wonder how he likes his . . . Fates!_

She was doing it again. Her mind was just programmed to imagine how she could best accommodate any given male. _Banish the thought!_ She should be thinking about how to get Sandy back, about what was best for her granddaughter.

Thankfully at that moment her mind was given a distraction. Unfortunately it came in the form of Sarkleyet. The master of the estate entered the dining room unobtrusively enough. It was the female marten who rushed in just behind him who actually caught Pearl's attention.

_So that's where Sybil went off to._ Pearl thought and her eyebrows rose a fraction when Sarkleyet leaned closer to the marteness and whispered something to her. Sybil pulled away quickly and exited out to the courtyard.

_What was that look on Sarkleyet's face? Oh, yes._ The madam knew that look. The expression he wore spoke of complete satisfaction. The vixen would have never thought it possible, but she didn't fault the young female. Sarkleyet was obviously the villain here.

And then he addressed the room. "I hope all of you slept well and that you are enjoying your meal. I do hate to interrupt, but I have some instructions for those of you who have decided aid me in my search. If you will just join me in the courtyard, it will only take a moment and you can all go back to your breakfast."

Pearl looked around and she wasn't the only beast to do so. They all seemed curious to see who would be participating in this ridiculous game.

Antonio rose from the table and stood motionless for a moment while the snake (oh what was her name? Silis?) slithered up his arm and draped herself over his shoulders. Together they made their way out to the courtyard to join Aras and Sybil.

Then Rea rose from the other side of the table. Pearl hadn't even noticed when the wolfmaid came in. She nodded politely as if to excuse herself and then also headed toward the courtyard. But the vixen stopped her. "You don't have to do this."

Rea shrugged. "I have to do something."

The older female glared at Sarkleyet. She watched as he ushered the wolfmaid out the door and then checked to see if everybeast was gathered. Seemingly content with those who had chosen to join him, the marten followed them out and shut the door behind him.

Pearl growled and turned her back. Then she noticed that Sheriff Brull and Rekkua were still standing with her. She had the vague thought that somebeast from their original group was missing, though her frustration prevented her from pursuing the idea any further.

"Well, let them have their little conference. What do we care?" Pearl asked her two remaining comrades. She wasn't really expecting a response.

The distinctly rumpled looking monitor surprised her, however. "You care, Mz Pearl. You zay to Martie t'at you find out about Zarklet'z planz."

"I did, didn't I?" The vixen turned back towards the courtyard door, running into the other of her own kind who was standing directly behind her. She sputtered, "Miss Higgins, what are you doing here?" _Why are you not tagging along with your mother's patron?_

The youngster pushed her glasses up on her muzzle with her paw and smiled. "I'm gonna help the sheriff."

Pearl glanced at Brull with a raised eyebrow and then returned her gaze to Miss Higgins. An idea came to her. "Do you think you could help him by finding out what Sarkleyet is telling them out there?"

The Higgins girl nodded. "Aye, Ms Pearl." And without another word she went.

The madam waited till the younger vixen was out of earshot before she addressed Brull. "She's going to help you?"

He shrugged. "Supposedly she's got somebeast on the inside, with the woodlanders."

Pearl wondered who that might be. Then she remembered her midnight conversation with Dirano. "I might just have somebeast in the woodlander's camp as well." _If what the alley cat said about Emmy was true. . . That's who's missing!_

"Were you able to find out anything about the Red Dawn's plans?" The vixen asked Rekkua, trying to keep herself on task.

The monitor hissed. "T'ey too busy holding drink to make planz."

"Well the four of us ain't gonna be able to do much against those Felld-whatsits, even if we do have a woodlander or two on our side," the sheriff put in before Pearl could ask what the lizard meant.

"You're right. We will need some help."

"How about t'e Martiez? T'ey help you, maybe, if you tell t'em about Zarklet."

It was a good idea, Pearl thought, but then remembered, "The fox didn't tell me where to find them."

"We could go up t' Nakat's tower an' look for 'em," Miss Higgins smiled cheerfully.

The older vixen had not heard the child come up beside her. "That – that's true. A beast can see the whole town from up there. Good idea, er, Zuzu."

"Me name's, Zula." She giggled at the mixup. "But you're welcome, Ms Pearl. And I heard loads about what Sarky wants them creatures t'do for 'im."

"Like what?" The older vixen grabbed the younger's shoulder excitedly. _Maybe she will be of some help to us after all._

Zula lowered her voice secretively. "He wants 'em to find _where_ a _house_ is."

"Where a house is?" Pearl repeated in amazed disappointment.

"Aye," The little vixen went on. "And that butler, Thall . . . Thla . . . Thliv . . ."

"Thalliv," the madam supplied while rubbing at the ache that was starting to throb in her temples.

"Aye, that's the one. He's goin' with 'em."

"Well Toni better watch his tail," Pearl muttered.

"Here I am. What did I miss?"

The voice of her other favorite creature made the vixen cringe.

The feline made a beeline for the buffet. "Food! Fabulous! I worked up such an appetite." He turned to the madam almost as an afterthought. "You too, Pearl ol' girl?" Then seeing the rat next to her, he gave Brull a wink.

Pearl covered her face with a paw. For the first time in seasons she was mortified by the assumption. Dirano was not going to make changing her reputation any easier and she found herself hoping he was going on the quest for the Red Brandy with the rest of them.


	27. Sonic Screwdriver and Two Vicodin,Please

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 25. Sonic Screwdriver and Two Vicodin, Please**

_by Aras_

Morning sunlight crept softly through the misty streets of Evnakt, spilling gently over the windowsill of the bedroom. Briefly roused, Aras stretched out along the bed, only to melt once more into the soft embrace of the sheets. He didn't want to wake up.

Through the haze of slow wakening, the wolverine felt a melancholy sense of disappointment. He had hoped that the rest would allow him to recall some more of the past, but last night had been nothing but unfathomable blackness.

"Good morning to you, sir!"

It was the ermine Antonio, his voice sweet enough to spread on scones. Had he even slept?

"M'rning," Aras mumbled in reply. The wolverine sat up, wiping the bleariness from his eyes. Antonio's form gradually swam into focus. The ermine was sitting up on his stiffly-creased bunk, already dressed for the day.

"I trust that you slept well?"

"Mnuh," Aras grunted. Let the blasted ermine interpret it as he willed.

Any further conversation was forestalled by a staccato tapping sound. "Somebeast is at the door," Antonio said chipperly, as though this was something to be excited about. The ermine strode over, and twisted the knob. "Do come in."

It was Sarkleyet's steward, whose name Aras couldn't recall. The weasel smiled respectfully. "Ah, glad to see that you're awake, gentlemen. Breakfast is about to be served, and Master Sarkleyet asks that you make your way to the dining room promptly."

Aras' heart and stomach sank in unison. He felt ill at the mere thought of choking down another plate of vegetables and greens. Eating that foreign garbage was akin to a severely dehydrated beast swallowing his own saliva; a temporary and inferior substitute for what the body truly required.

"We'll be right there," he sighed.

Antonio was struck by a sudden recollection. "Hold on a moment, sir, what about the Sherriff?"

Aras glanced over to the far bed, where Sherriff Brull was snoring fit to beat the band. "You can wake him. I'm going."

Might as well start the charade...

A short while later, Aras slipped out into the courtyard. Breakfast had utterly failed to whet his appetite, and Pearl's inquisitions had only made things worse.

The vixen seemed to think of him as some sort of heroic figure, albeit one that she watched over in very maternal fashion. Truth be told, that sort of connection was the last thing Aras wanted. He was here to sell out the vermin, hand over the lot of them on a platter. It was his only ticket to freedom. It wasn't supposed to be _personal_.

Hellgates, he needed some space to think. The stress of this whole muddled situation was giving his skull a chance to rehash some old grudges.

As he gazed around, Aras found himself strangely attracted to the architecture of this place. A series of pillared half-arches extended out from the manor walls, creating a sort of enclosed walkway. From there, the courtyard extended outwards in a semi-circle, laid out in white marbled stone. Several grand pillars and statues formed a border along the edge, giving him the sense of entertaining a stonework audience. Very impressive.

In the middle of the yard, an ornately carved fountain burbled away to itself, casting stray droplets into the morning sky. There was a crude bench next to it, a long thick slab of gray stone balanced across two smaller blocks. Aras picked his way across the mossy stones, and settled down on it. He needed to sit down, and sort things out.

The wolverine's mind ached. Different lines of repressed thought were weaving about each other, fighting amongst themselves to be the first unravelled.

What should he do next?

Aras could always abandon the search, leaving the miserable scavengers to their own devices...

No. That option took a sharp downward plunge in the not-too-distant future. Sarkleyet would brand him an enemy, and Major Calderon would be outraged that he'd wasted such a lucrative opportunity. Either way, death was likely to follow. The thing about running away, he felt, was that you could never stop running.

Sabotage was a more promising option, albeit one that Aras had no clue how to implement.

A third option was to play along, and let things fail of their own accord. Neither Sarkleyet nor the Major could blame him, could they? On second thought, never mind. They could. Probably _would_.

There were many possibilities, but none of them ended happily.

Unless, of course... they didn't fail. What then?

In the incredibly unlikely event that the group could actually find the Brandy, that would open up an entirely delicious range of options. Neutralize the Brandy so that neither side could use it, present it dutifully to the master of his choosing, or even simply auction it off to the highest bidder.

"Ah, Master Ikaras!" It was the steward again, probably here to insist that Aras choke down some garbage with minced leaves on it. The weasel's paws clicked softly across the mossy tiles towards him.

What was that weasel's name? It was going to bother him until he figured it out. He'd mentioned it earlier... Ach, and now the steward was standing right in front of him, prattling away. The weasel wrung his paws nervously as he spoke, obviously apprehensive about something.

"Master Sarkleyet asked me to locate you. He'd like to do a quick briefing in the courtyard for those who've chosen to assist with retrieving the Brandy. But, er, of course, you're, already here. The others should be out right away."

In fact, Sybil was already stamping angrily in their direction. Brushing roughly past the steward, she slumped onto the far corner of the bench, scowling darkly.

Shortly after, Antonio emerged from the shadows, with the serpent draped loosely about his shoulders. The ermine seemed pleased to see Aras there, giving him a respectful nod as he sat down.

Was that it? Only the three of them? Four, he supposed, if you regarded a snake as a complete entity.

Rea appeared in the breezeway, alleviating his fears somewhat. The young wolf's hesitant facial expression matched how Aras felt inside. Sarkleyet followed her, closing the latticed doors with a flourish.

The marten waited patiently until everybeast was seated before launching into his address.

"Good morning. You may have noticed several absences from among those present at our assembly yesterday afternoon. Evidently some ungrateful beasts have deigned not to participate in our search for the missing Brandy."

Aras fought back a sardonic smile. _What a change the morning brings. It's not "your search", it's, "our search." Quaint._

"Before the meeting progresses any further, I would request that each of you make a final confirmation of your intentions. This venture will be difficult, and the potential for danger is quite high. If you would like to change your mind, now is the time."

Aras was aghast at the marten's duplicity. Blackmail, followed by the compassionate offer to make one's own decision. What a joke.

Aras' eyes wavered sideways. Nobeast moved a muscle, save for the adder's darting tongue. Rea, though, looked absolutely morose, and Sybil seemed to be scowling even harder.

Sarkleyet grinned with mock gratitude. "Excellent. The Fates have truly provided a superior group for this endeavor." At this remark, his eyes twinkled in Aras' direction.

Aras rolled his eyes. _Your Fates provide through duplicity and coercion, apparently._

"I beg your pardon," Antonio piped up, "But, where, pray tell, are we to begin this venture?"

"Mm, yes, that's a very good question. Nevyeer, as previously stated, did business at a number of locations throughout Evnakt. His major center of operations was an old warehouse near the harbour district, used chiefly for his own private research. Nevyeer's assistants abandoned the facility shortly after he contracted Martin's madness, but the possibility exists that he returned there after stealing the Brandy."

Aras felt dubious. "How are we supposed to find this place, exactly?"

Sarkleyet beckoned forth his hovering steward. The weasel smiled anxiously at the group as Sarkleyet turned his attentions back to them. "Since none of you are residents of Evnakt, I have asked Thalliv to accompany you on the search. He will guide you through the city, and anywhere else you may find it necessary to go."

Thalliv, that was the weasel's name. Aras filed that away for future reference.

Rea spoke up. "Will we have any supplies? We'll have to eat at some point during the day."

"Of course. Rations are already being prepared, and Thalliv will be on call to provide any further assistance you may require."

Antonio had another line of questioning. "What sort of hostilities might we expect to encounter? Will we require weaponry?"

Thalliv fielded this one. "We'll be travelling mostly through areas controlled by, er, by independent bands. They shouldn't be any bother to us, really..."

The ermine looked unimpressed, and opened his mouth to protest before Sarkleyet cut him off.

"I have the utmost confidence in this group's capabilities. However, as an emergency measure, Thalliv will be bringing his crossbow along. I rather doubt you'll require more weaponry than that. Now, are there any further questions?"

Antonio looked as though he was struggling to contain an urgent query, but bit his tongue as Sarkleyet brought the meeting to a close.

"It will take a short while to prepare the ration packs, so you are dismissed until then. I suggest you say any farewells now, since you'll be leaving shortly."

The motley crew dispersed towards the house, soaking in those last few minutes before things took a startling plunge into the unknown. Aras lagged behind, not wanting to face the troubling road ahead.

The wolverine paused for one look back. _Hold on... what in blazes?_

Sarkleyet was pressing something into Sybil's paw. Aras couldn't quite make it out, but it looked almost like a jewellery box. As the female slunk away, Sarkleyet turned to introspectively face the dawn, rubbing his paws together delightedly.

So, the plot thickened. Last night, Sarkleyet had referred to Sybil as being "rather fetching." Perhaps he was pursuing the younger marten? A coy smirk crossed the wolverine's face as he slipped into the house.

=~*~=

It was an infernally hot day. The morning sun beat down on the group, tracking their progress through the winding avenues of the dead city.

Aras cursed the daylight. The thick, shaggy fur that protected wolverines from frostbite now worked heavily against him in this sweltering heat. Rivulets of sweat trickled down Aras' forehead, stinging his eyes.

After an agonizing eternity of tramping along a dusty alleyway, the wolverine felt he would boil and die if forced to take one more step. Mercifully, Thalliv called a halt.

Sybil dropped her pack with a violent curse. "These things're bloody murder to carry!"

"You should not be carrying that thing with your arm injured," Antonio put in sensibly.

"Why don't you carry it, then?" hissed Dirano.

Antonio glared at the cat, and Aras found himself sympathizing. Dirano shouldn't even have been here. The feline had been too busy stuffing his face to even attend Sarkleyet's briefing, and only a litany of constant pleading had convinced the marten of Dirano's sincere loyalties.

"I am already burdened with food for myself and Silisk."

The regal serpent nodded approvingly from her perch atop Antonio's haversack. Silisk was quite incapable of carrying her own pack, for obvious reasons.

"I could take the pack," Aras offered, reaching towards the marten. She snarled at him, clutching the bag tightly. _Well, fine. Do it on your own. Can't say I didn't try. _

The wolverine retreated, taking this opportunity to take a precursory dig through his haversack. Nuts, cheese, and a couple of small, hard loaves. He cracked one open experimentally, finding it to be more crust than bread. _Figures._

As an afterthought, Aras dug the red stone from his pocket and tossed it in with the food. It would be safer in there.

A loud clattering sound arose from the street, pricking Aras' ears.

Thalliv's face blanched. "Hide!" the weasel hissed, hustling the group deeper into the blackened alleyway.

Aras held his breath, trying to will himself further into the shadows as the sound grew louder. Whatever had the power to frighten their guide like that, he wanted no part of.

Holding their collective breath, the party watched a pair of burly moles pass by the opening. The black-furred creatures emitted deep bass groans as they struggled with the weight of a large wooden cart. What was so terrible about this?

_Oh, Hellgates._ He saw it now. The cart was piled high with carcasses, hollow shells which had once been vermin. Aras identified an emaciated dog-fox atop the heap, sprawled across a tangle of lifeless limbs. The body was horribly gaunt, with ribs showing through the flesh and fur like the curved talons of an eagle. Death had probably come as a mercy.

Unbidden saliva pooled in the wolverine's mouth, reminding him once more of just how hungry he truly was. He swallowed heavily, trying to force his mind to focus on anything else, anything to keep his mind off of the feast being dragged across his vision. His breathing felt slow and shallow.

An eternity later, the rattling sounds faded away.

Sybil extricated herself from a crumbling alcove, and spat angrily into the dust. "What in Hellgates was that? You said we'd be goin' through friendly territory!"

"I said we'd _mostly_ be going through friendly territory," Thalliv replied weakly, to an audience of glares.

Rea's snout wrinkled with bewilderment. "What are they... Why are they?"

"She attempts to ask, 'what would yon soilsnouts want with the deceased?'" Silisk translated.

"Body collection," Thalliv whispered hollowly. "When the Madness pandemic went into decline, the wagons were sent out to clear the streets. At nightfall, we burned the corpses, hoping to contain the last strains of the infection. Now, though, Felldoh's Heirs use them to handle the casualties of the resistance."

The weasel sighed laconically. "Strike me, but I wish those corpses were theirs."

=~*~=

Thalliv led the group down a series of winding streets and alleyways, occasionally stopping to check his bearings. They reached the warehouse some time in the late afternoon. Nevyeer's workshop was a squat brick building, tucked away unassumingly behind a number of ruined shops.

Dirano tried the rusted handle. "Locked."

Rea glanced hesitantly at a glowering Sybil. "Perhaps Sybil could..."

There was a crunching sound as the door swung open. Thalliv winked cheerfully at the group. "Sometimes one good shoulder is all it takes."

Aras ducked inside after the weasel, squinting into the gloom. The main area appeared to be one large room, though on the left two smaller spaces had been walled off. Through a gaping doorway Aras could identify the first as being a sort of office. The second door was closed.

The wolverine scanned the main space. Up high, he could make out several thick timbers spanning the length of the room, festooned liberally with spider silk. One of the strands wavered as a panicked moth fluttered in vain to escape its grasp.

Several shelving cabinets were still filled with row after row of curious slim bottles of chemicals, and along the right wall ran a long counter, strewn with a curious array of medicinal-looking equipment. This place had been abandoned in a hurry.

Dirano wiped a finger along the counter. This sent up a small wisp of dust, dancing by the light of a greasy window. "What are we supposed to be looking for, anyway?"

"I'm not exactly sure," mused Thalliv. "But I suspect we'll know it when we find it."

=~*~=

Several hours of close inspection later, they still hadn't found it.

Sybil picked up a wicked metal tool from the counter and looked at it incredulously. "What kind of freak was this Nevyeer, anyway?"

"Not a clean freak, that's for sure," Aras muttered under his breath as he looked through a shelf of vials for the fifth time.

Thalliv stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, Sybil, I didn't have many opportunities to talk with Nevyeer face to face, but from what I know of the fellow, he was brilliant. Of course, I also know that he went to very great lengths to protect the secrecy of his work."'

"Wait." Aras turned around. "Great lengths?"

Thalliv nodded. "I heard Master Sarkleyet mention it several times. Nevyeer was always very paranoid about the projects he engineered, especially the Red Brandy. Both Sarkleyet and Nevyeer insisted on very high classification for the formula's development. I myself didn't know about it until, well, the theft, I suppose..."

Aras looked back at the doorway. "That makes no sense. There's no security here at all. After all, you were able to barge in without too much trouble, almost as if..."

Rea frowned curiously. "As if what?"

Aras scratched his head, trying to make the pieces fall into place. "Well, it seems too easy. I mean, look, there aren't even any bars on the windows. Anybeast trying to rob this place would have no trouble getting in. And they would find..."

"...Absolutely nothing worth finding," Thalliv finished. "By the fates. You think there's a secret entrance hidden somewhere?"

"It would make sense."

The wolfmaid seemed hesitant. "Would Nevyeer really be that devious?"

"Would Sarkleyet?"

A sly smile crept onto Thalliv's face. "Absolutely, he would."

=~*~=

Silisk coiled on one of the lab tables, watching. "Explain to me why Sir Antonio is counting his steps. I do not understand this."

Aras had felt rather foolish when he'd first detailed his plan to Antonio, and he felt a good degree sillier explaining it again to the ostentatious snake. "Well, he's going to walk in a straight line across the floor from one wall to the other, counting all the way. I've already had him do it on the outside of the building."

"For what purpose?"

"Well, if there are more paces on the outside, that means that one of the walls could be hollow."

Sybil made a face. "Why look in the walls?"

"Because we couldn't find anything in the offices or the floor," Thalliv said sheepishly.

The marten was unimpressed. "How do you know there's anything here at all?"

"Er... we don't, really."

Aras preemptively cut off the marten's reply by stating, "But we might as well look everywhere. That way we can definitively rule this place out before we move on. I don't want to come all the way back here later just because we didn't try all of our options the first time."

Silisk flicked her tail irritably. "Feh! A waste of time! Why not simply destroy the walls?"

Rea rapped on the nearest one, producing a solid thunk. "They're made of stone, Silisk. It would take a lot of effort to break through them, and there's no point in doing it without a good reason."

"This is stupid," Dirano said venomously.

Antonio halted in front of the rear wall. "Thirty-three," the ermine called out.

Aras grinned. "And we had how many on the outside wall?

Thalliv's brow furrowed in consternation. "Thirty-seven, I think?"

"It was positively thirty-eight," sniffed Antonio.

"Looks like we've got a hollow wall." _Yeah, but which one, exactly?_

"Or the stoat counted wrong." Dirano rolled his eyes.

"Sir, you are incorrect," Antonio snapped, offended. "I do not mis-count. Ever."

Rea offered an alternate theory. "What if the thickness of the walls threw off the count?"

"If you look at the windows, they're not thick enough to alter it that much." Aras shrugged. "I'm thinking we should check..."

He looked around. Front wall, had the door. Right side. Window. Left side. Also a window. "Let's check the back wall. It's the only one that doesn't have a window or door frame in it."

Aras, Rea, and Thalliv approached the wall. The wolverine moved along its length, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing immediately leapt to the eye. No dusty pawprints hinting at where to push, no scrape marks on the floor to suggest that the wall moved outwards...

When Aras reached the far corner, he turned back again, in case he'd missed something. He was right about this. He knew he was right about this. There had to be _something_ here. But with every passing brick, Aras felt the doubt and weariness creeping up on him. His manacle, unnoticed up until now, suddenly seemed to possess the gravity of mountains, pulling him down into a pit of despair.

A discordant flicking sound drew the wolverine's attention to the rafters. The moth he had noticed earlier had attracted notice from the trap's architect. As the spider crept along the gossamer thread, the moth's wings battered in vain against the beam, drumming out one final bid for freedom.

Just before the arachnid struck, Aras could swear it rubbed two forelegs together in Sarkleyet's unmistakeable gesture of victory.


	28. Essspionage

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 26. Essspionage**

_by Silisk_

This was turning into a horrid waste of time.

Silisk's jaw's gaped in a yawn as she watched the proceedings from her spot, coiled on the table. Searching and scrounging about in such a place was far beneath a beast of her standing, and so she was quite content to let the others have at it as much as they liked.

As Rea, Aras, and Thalliv approached the wall, Silisk found her own attention wandering. It wasn't all that bad for a lair, she supposed, despite the copious amounts of dust and the lack of treasure.

The remaining beasts seemed ill-at ease. The cat was pacing about in high bad humor, and Antonio's eyes kept shifting toward an off-centered desk covered in a fine layer of dust. The marteness, meanwhile, was leaning against a pile of boxes, arms crossed. As if noticing she was being watched, Sybil glared upward, but looked away when she caught the adder's eye. Silisk smiled to herself. _A truly pitiable situation._

--

_"It doesn't matter to me what they do to you as long as you get your job done. Dismissed."_

Silisk, no more than a shadow on the wall, watched as Sybil was dragged out Sarkleyet's study, cursing all the while.

The adder had come to the conclusion that private meetings were actually rather overrated.

Antonio had said that Sarkleyet was off, but this was something else entirely. Being forced to fulfill the plans of such a dangerous beast was akin to being trapped in a room with a mongoose. The adder nearly flinched at the very thought. Mongooses were almost as horrid as birds, in her opinion, and the both of them would be outlawed when she was in charge. Wait, was it mongooses? Perhaps mongeese was the correct term. Silisk pondered for a moment before deciding that the creatures were simply too barbarous for it to even matter.

It was at that time that Sarkleyet chose to look in the adder's direction, and Silisk froze, wishing she could melt into the wall. The marten's eyes narrowed and the serpent's muscles tensed in preparation to flee, but then he sighed to himself and turned on his heel.

"Of course, of course. I suppose it can wait until tomorrow."

The adder waited until the door was closed, and then remembered to breath. Loosening and stretching her coils, she slipped out from the hole in the wall that had lead her in from the hall. "You might think yourself clever," she hissed, slithering toward the marten's desk. "But today I am the victor."

Perched on the polished mahogany, Silisk admired her surroundings. The anger that had been roiling inside her blood had all but evaporated during the meeting, leaving the adder feeling somewhat silly for it. Of course, she would have never been called in; what use was there in poisoning an adder, a beast who lives and breathes toxins?

Nevertheless, the serpent flicked her tongue and set about looking for where Sarkleyet kept his antidote. She would have nothing to worry about, but if she was able to successfully acquire just one vial, then it would surely secure her partnership with Antonio.

Pushing her belly scales against the glass, Silisk made short work of ascending the structure and found herself staring at several rows of neatly labeled vials. The small glass door had already been left half-open, and all it took was a nudge from the serpent's head to finish the job. "Aha! Your strength needs attesting to before you can measure up to your brethren, door," she mocked. Now, came the difficult part.

The adder attempted to curl her tail around the vial, but found that movement was difficult at best. It only took two attempts at rolling it with her head, and nearly dropping it over the edge of the shelf, to realize that was also not such a great option, either. She glared at her foe, head swaying in an effort to learn its secrets.

Finally, as it seemed there was nothing else for it, Silisk stretched her jaw and managed to pick up the object. Satisfied, she made her steady decent to the floor and darted across to the hole where she had entered, twisting her head to allow the vial enough space as well.

Silisk, embraced by the shadows in the hall, was just about to congratulate herself on cunning success when she nearly slithered into the path of a furiously pacing Sybil.

Withdrawing as quickly as she could, the adder watched. She couldn't say she felt much for the crass marten, but neither was she going to take advantage of her position. Getting back to her chambers unseen was the top priority.

Hugging the walls, she snuck past the sulking Sybil with nary a sound. However, when the unfortunate thief strayed a few paces too close, Silisk drew back, letting go of the vial before she could stop herself.

There was a clink as glass met marble, and the marten's ears, and then her whole head, swiveled to face the adder. Silisk mentally cursed the sky blue, including the vial for being so horrid, the walls for not being particularly conducive to camouflage, and especially Sybil for being so perceptive.

Before Silisk had a chance to defend herself, the marten intercepted her. "What do you think yer doin'? How did yew get that?"

The adder froze for but a moment. "I… pardon me, madam, I was simply hoping to deliver this antidote to you."

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Sybil's lips. "Why should I believe that tripe? Yew still haven't answered my question, either."

Silisk dipped her head. "Allow me to explain. I was spying on Sir Sarkleyet when I saw the black-hearted cur poison you." The adder hoped that the words didn't sound quite as hollow as they felt.

"Just great. Help from another poisoner; just what I needed." The marten's tone remained hostile, but Silisk tasted the air and sensed more than a bit of hesitation hiding just beneath the snarl. "Since when were you so concerned about my health, worm?"

"I am not a worm!" Silisk hissed, raising her upper body as high as she was able. "Furthermore, can you not see that I am only trying to--"

Silisk decided that there was only one way to deal with such a difficult creature. Without another word, she looped her upper body in an arch, blue scales shimmering against the floor as she slithered toward the abandoned vial. "Do what you wish," she sniffed, swiveling her head around. "Scorn me as you like. But if you do not want this antidote, then I shall simply keep it for myself."

With that, the regal serpent picked up the vial and slithered off. Or, rather, that's what she wanted to do. Silisk hissed around a mouthful of glass at the vial's incompetence as she struggled to gain control of the slippery object. "Ignoramus… hssk!" She reared back, prepared to strike the horrid glass as it rolled away from her.

"Here. I'll take that."

Silisk, regaining her dignity as best she could, held her head up, eying Sybil critically as the marten scooped up the vial. "I thought you did not require my assistance," she said, putting on a sulk.

"Don't think I owe you any favors, though," the marten narrowed her eyes even as she rolled the glass in her paw. It looked as if she was about to bolt, but then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "… Thanks."

--

"I think I found something."

Silisk raised her head off the table, straining to see exactly what had been excavated. Aras was fiddling with something in the wall, but it wasn't until the wolverine shifted his considerable bulk that it could be identified as a small hole. "Useless," he grumbled. "It's too small. I could try working at it some more—"

"Perhaps," Silisk spoke as she wended her way down the leg of the table to the ground, "I could be of some service." The adder cut a clean swath across the floor just as Rea took an unobtrusive step backward. "Mayhap t'would save the lot of us much grief if I were to investigate on my own? No sense in obliterating this wall if there's naught beyond it but air."

The wolverine blinked, a motion which Silisk tried in vain to copy before giving up. Surely something so foolish would be just the sort of activity that only a furred beast would engage in, anyway. "All right," Aras said, stepping aside. "… Be careful."

As she approached the hole, Silisk wished that she had taken the time to appraise it _before_ volunteering. This hole looked much smaller and far more hostile than the one in Sarkleyet's castle. Nevertheless, she squirmed and slithered and managed to make it through with only a minimum of discomfort.

Unfortunately, the other side of the wall was entirely too dark to make anything out. Silisk flicked her tongue, but any familiar scent was masked by layers of dust and… was that _blood_? _'tis folly. Merely wishful thinking._ But that didn't stop the adder from imagining what sort of blood it could possibly be.

"Silisk? Are you all right?" The voice belonged to Rea.

"Yes, yes I am unharmed," Silisk said, slightly ruffled. "Although I admit that this room is black as pitch and so I can see next to naught of it."

Thalliv spoke next. "Is there space enough for you to move?"

The adder slid away from the hole, only to feel the earth drop away from her. "Hellgates!" She hissed, swerving backward.

"What? What is it?" Rea again.

Tentatively, the adder pressed herself against the ground, following it as it dipped in the shape of a… "Apologies for my outburst," she said, "but I believe I've come across a staircase."

"…well, there's nothing for it, now." The serpent poked her head through the hole again just in time to see Aras roll his shoulders back, noticing the muscles rippling beneath his fur as he did so. "Let's get this over with."

"Harken to me," Silisk said, squeezing her coils through the hole and into the light. "Are you quite sure we have no tools with which to aid us in this task?"

Aras was in the act of shaking his head when Antonio spoke up. "I might be able to answer that, actually."

Everybeast turned to stare at the stoat. Silisk noticed Aras do that strange thing with his eyebrows again. "You do?"

"Quite sorry for not mentioning it earlier," the stoat said, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I managed to come into possession of a tool." The stoat pulled a hatchet out of his pack.

Now it was Rea's turn to blink. "You… stole an axe?"

"I _procured _an axe," Antonio said cheerily. "And it is actually a hatchet."

The wolf crossed her arms. "But why?"

Antonio shrugged. "A hatchet has many uses, Miss Rea. In case we meet adversity, it would be nice to have along for self-defense as well."

"Well," Sybil quipped. "Maybe this won't be such a waste of time after all."

Dirano, who had been slinking off on his own, shrugged. "If you say so." His tone could be described as derisive at best. Rea rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything.

Thalliv cleared his throat. "If you will pardon the expression," he said with a small grin. "I'd say we'd best have a crack at that wall, eh?"

Aras looked as if he would have liked nothing better than to have a crack at the weasel's head (and Silisk would have fully endorsed it). However, before anything unfortunate could happen, Antonio handed the hatchet to wolverine, who drew his arm back for the first swing.

--

Although Aras was in possession of prodigious strength, he tired quickly. Sweat rolled down his forehead in rivulets, and Silisk could only imagine how hot he must have been under all that fur. Eventually, he ended up trading off with Antonio, Thalliv, and Rea, and the three of them made short work of widening the entrance into a hole big enough even for Aras.

Silisk slithered out of the way, nimbly avoiding dust and bits of stone as the wolverine shook his head. "Very well done," she purred, both admiring and envying his strength all at once.

Aras shifted his weight. "Thanks," he panted. He offered the hatchet to Antonio, and everybeast peered down the stairwell. Even Sybil seemed at least a little excited about their find.

"Excellent work!" Thalliv exclaimed. "Let's take a look, then."

The rag-tag group followed the weasel down the stairwell into a dank room. Tasting the air, Silisk found that the blood was still faint… much too faint to determine.

The entire room was in a state of darkened disarray. Sheaves of yellowed parchment lay scattered about like a pile of leaves after a young beast had thrashed about in it. The more she thought about it, the more she wouldn't have put such an act past Nevyeer. Vials and test-tubes, some filled with dubious-looking liquid, others cracked and bleeding, lay scattered about, abandoned and neglected. Glass objects in all manner of shades, shapes, and sizes lit up the shelves with ghostly hues, including more than a few objects (containers, perhaps?) that Silisk could only guess at. Rusted knives, scissors, and other twisted and unpleasant looking instruments could be seen poking out from half-opened shelves as if in preparation to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

The adder couldn't help but feel disappointed; no treasure. All in all, it was a rather poor lair.

"Huh, you would think this place has been ransacked by rapscallions." Antonio sniffed, more than likely pleased at his affinity for alliteration, as he turned up his nose at the main table. "Small wonder if we can salvage anything at all."

"What's this smelly ol' thing?" The adder looked away from the shiny bit of blue glass she'd spied to see Sybil standing in front of a strange looking box wedged in between the wall and a rotting bookshelf. The box was rather large with a curious lock attached, comprised of what looked like a spinning wheel and four rows of letters. The marteness fiddled with the apparatus for the best part of a few seconds before giving up. "No good. This ain't like a normal lock; we need to find some sort o' password."

"Methinks that is where Sir Nevyeer locked away his hoard." Silisk said, a covetous glimmer in her eyes as she slithered forward.

Rea nodded. "That sounds sensible enough. Now, what was that about a password?"

"Let me take a look at that." Antonio looked up from a letter atop the table and hurried toward the box, trying to step over bits of dirt and grime as he went. "Hmm… Yes. This Nevyeer knew what he was doing. The way this is set up, I am afraid we could be trying combinations of letters for hours with no results."

Dirano snorted. "Fantastic. We're right back at square one." He prowled over to Thalliv. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Before the weasel could speak, however, Rea spoke up. "Hold on! Quiet, everybeast!" Ears perked, the wolf held a paw to her lips. "I… hear something," she said.

Dirano curled his lips back in a sneer. "Hearing things, are we?"

The wolf shot him a warning glance. "Just be quiet and listen."

Silisk, along with the other beasts, stopped where they were and listened, although the serpent soon became frustrated. _Counting bricks and now hearing voices... hellgates, but this is a fool's errand._

There had better have been rubies in that box.


	29. All Along the Watchtower

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 27. All Along the Watchtower**

_by Zula_

The odd quartet made its way through the streets of Evnakt, the vast mansion behind them gradually sinking below a sea of increasingly grottier rooftops. Brull led the pack, though Zula often trotted out in front and had to be called back with urgent hisses.

"You do know that the beasts that took your mother away from you are the ones that still control this town, yes?" Pearl said patiently after dragging the vixen back by the collar of her grimy vest for the umpteenth time.

"Ah, don't worry, Miz Pearl, they're not all bad. Besides, me shortcut should take us right t' the tower with no worries, it should."

"You're sure we're still going the right way, then?" Brull asked.

"Sure I'm sure, sure as puddin'," Zula said, pointing at the tall structure poking up into sky. "We're headed for that giant thing, aren't we?"

"Mind your cheek," Pearl scolded. "Let's not dally here any longer than we have to."

"Yez," Rekkua added sibilantly. "I not truzt t'eze ztreetz."

They set off again, Zula directing them where to go. Once or twice they took cover in an abandoned hovel as a patrol of woodlanders marched by, but after some tense moments they reached Nakat's tower unscathed. The ladder seemed to stretch right up into the sky; it made Zula dizzy just looking at it.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Brull asked. "Let's go."

He stepped forward, as did Pearl and Rekkua. Zula found that either her footpaws weren't obeying her brain or that her brain had suddenly developed a shrewd sense of self-preservation. Whatever the case, she wasn't budging.

"Miss Higgins, come on, we can't stay down here if we hope to see anything," Pearl urged.

The young vixen's bespectacled eyes were wide as saucers and rooted on the tower. "But it's...so high..."

Brull's patience with the vixen was rapidly wearing thin. "Zula, you said you were going to be helpful," the rat growled. "This...this is not helpful."

"Don't be so hard on her just for being afraid of heights," said Pearl, her motherly instincts kicking in. "She is still a child."

"Hardly," Brull chuckled. "She looks old enough to take on some actual responsibility. She only acts like a child."

"I agree wit' Brull," Rekkua added. "If she not coming, let uz leave her. We have ot'er t'ingz to do."

The sound of breaking glass in the distance sold Pearl on the idea. They mounted the ladder in turn and began to climb, slowly ascending the tower. Zula watched them nervously. Maybe she would just stay down here and keep watch until they came back. Now wouldn't that be responsible of her?

Her eyes were drawn to a blob of paint that had been dribbled onto the metal weight at the bottom of the rope ladder goodness knows how long ago. Zula reached down and scraped at it with a claw, but there was no removing it. Her claws made a rather chilling noise against the metal, though. The fox wiggled her claws all over its surface, shivering with delight. She wondered how Rekkua's scales must sound against it.

"Hey! Hey Rekkua!" she called.

But the monitor was either too high up or too concentrated on her climbing to hear her. Zula frowned; she supposed there was only one way to get the lizard's attention. She gripped the ladder tightly with both paws, shut her eyes, and took a step up.

Opening one eye cautiously, as if opening the other would surely mean certain death, the fox inspected her situation. She was off the ground, and it didn't hurt, didn't make her sick, and, most importantly, didn't make her dead. In fact, she felt fine, and arguably more than fine. The fox took a few more experimental steps up the ladder, saw the climb still had not killed her in any sort of nasty way, and suddenly she giggled with glee and began to scamper upward, watching the rooftops fall away.

Not once during her mad climb did she look up, which didn't bother her unduly until her head collided painfully with Pearl's heel. The older vixen paused and looked down.

"Zula? What are you doing here? I thought you were afraid of heights."

"I were," she said, "but then I gave 'em a chance, Miz Pearl. They're not as mean as they look."

"Well, I'm just over the moon that you're having so much fun down there, but keep moving," Brull called down to them. "We're almost to the top."

A short while later they made it to the observation deck, an open area with a railing that wrapped all around the watchtower. The four of them rested from the climb, rubbing their arms and groaning.

"What's in there?" Zula asked, pointing at the watchtower building at the center.

"I think that may be where the telescopes are," said Pearl. "Shall we take a look?"

"Sure an' I'm already ahead of you there, mam!" Zula grinned before leaping up and scurrying to the door.

"Wait!" Rekkua hissed warningly. "Maybe not zafe to—"

Zula slid the door open and a pair of paws shot out, dragging her inside. The others cried out in alarm, drawing weapons and hurrying after her, only to find themselves at the points of about half a dozen Long Patrol weapons. One of the long-eared creatures had a tight hold of Zula, her sword blade at the fox's neck. Zula stared up into the strange face of her captor, watching her oversized front teeth slide in and out of view as she barked a command to the vixen's three friends.

"Don't even think about movin', scum, unless you'd like to see your little friend become..."

Major Regaworth looked down at the vixen, a most puzzled expression on her face. Was her captive..._laughing_?

Zula shook with silent mirth, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry, I don't mean t' laugh, it's just...Yer ears! They're ridiculous!"

She burst out laughing at the odd creatures, and for a moment everyone looked so puzzled they didn't know what to do next. No doubt partially out of the indignity of having her ears insulted, Regaworth pressed her sword blade tighter against Zula's neck. The vixen's laughter turned to a panicked yelp as the hare was rewarded with a tiny trickle of blood.

"Horrible creature! You'd kill a child?" Pearl spat.

"I will if you don't tell me what you're bloody well doing up here," the Major growled.

Zula whimpered in pain. She could barely swallow around the sword blade against her windpipe. She could understand objecting to comments about one's physical appearance, but certainly not to this extent. As far as she was concerned, the long-eared thing had no right to hurt her or threaten her friends.

"Major, look out, she's got a—"

It was Regaworth's turn to yelp as Zula jabbed her knife into her leg. The hare released her and she scurried away, just as Brull and Rekkua instinctively seized the moment of distraction and ducked under the Long Patrollers' weapons, taking the fight to them with a vengeance. The already relatively cramped space was now a roiling mass of brawling creatures, weapons and limbs flailing in a deadly dance.

Zula crouched under a table, watching her three friends grapple with the hares. They were hopelessly outnumbered and she knew she had to help them somehow. Exactly how, she had no idea, unaccustomed as she was to any kind of fighting. Then she noticed a tantalizing opportunity when a pair of ridiculously large footpaws sprinted by the table. She dove forward and managed to grab one, its owner yelling his dismay as he crashed to the floor. He rolled over, his angry eyes falling on Zula.

"Oh, you bally insolent..."

He grabbed one of her large ears and yanked her forward. Zula squealed and twisted her head desperately, sinking needle-sharp teeth into the hare's paw. She saw a blur of metal and felt the crack of a sword handle connecting solidly with her skull. Half-conscious, she slumped back and watched the hare sheath his sword, clutching at his bleeding paw. Her eyelids drooped and the whole scene drifted out of focus before fading to black.

"Zula? Zula?"

"Get away from her, fox. Don't give me an excuse!"

"But she's been bashed over the head, you creep!"

"Fox, I'm warning you, another word and you'll get the same as her!"

"Oh, leave her alone, you great long-eared trollop."

"I've heard just about enough out of you, too, rat..."

The first solid fact that came to Zula's mind was that her head hurt.

The second was that her head really, _really_ hurt.

The third, fourth and fifth were all variations of the first two, but the sixth was that she couldn't move. The vixen opened her eyes and was rewarded with—surprise—yet more stabbing pain in her skull as the light hit her retinas. Blinking slowly, she looked around. Curse it all, why did everything she did have to hurt so badly? Pearl, Rekkua and Brull had all been bound and were shoved up against the wall next to her, though Pearl had shuffled close to her to see if she was all right. The hares stood over them; the mean female one that had cut her neck seemed to be the boss. The one that had knocked her out seemed to be a sort of second in command or something, with the way he hovered at her side with a decidedly servile demeanor.

"Major Regaworth, Marm," the bloody-pawed one said, "what're we goin' to do to these beasts, eh? Same thing we did to the ones we found up here earlier?"

The Major pursed her lips shrewdly. "No, Woxley, not without some answers."

"Why don't you start by answering some of _our_ questions first, eh?" Brull asked. "Like what the ruddy hell you're doing here, and why you seem to enjoy bullying children?"

"Child?" Woxley spluttered indignantly. "That's no child, that's the bally spawn of Vulpuz himself! She stabbed the Major and bit my paw clear to the bone!" He pointed to the bandages on Regaworth's leg and his own paw.

"Enough, Captain," Regaworth said. She turned to Brull. "So, to answer your question, my good chap, we're here because a certain ferret from your town led us here. A certain ferret we were expecting back over an hour ago, which is why we had left one of the ladders down. Normally we would have pulled it up at the first sign of anyone approaching the tower, but I must say we were positively intrigued by the starting point of your little journey, as it were."

"Why you care about ztarting point?" Rekkua hissed.

"Well," Regaworth said with a faint smile, "you came from the mansion of a marten called Sarkleyet. Let's just say he's a beast of interest to us. So now that we've answered your questions, we'd like you to tell us why you—"

"Beggin' yer pardon, mam," Zula said, "but y' didn't answer all of 'is questions."

"Shut your gob, fox," Woxley snapped.

Regaworth sighed. "Easy, Captain. You're right, it may have been a bit unfair of me to use you like that, child, but as you may have noticed, these are dangerous times we live in. And now, finally, _why_ are you here? Why has Sarkleyet sent you?"

"No one _sent_ us," Brull answered. "We just...wanted to get a better view of the town."

Regaworth laughed. "That's a jolly poor excuse, lad. You're going to have to do better than that, I'm afraid, and you've got precious little time to do it."

"Major Regaworth, Marm!" a hare called, scurrying over from a telescope at one of the windows. "Some more of them from Sarkleyet's mansion just entered a warehouse nearby."

"Yes, very good, Harvey," she said, momentarily forgetting about the prisoners. Zula could almost see the cogs working behind Sheriff Brull's eyes as he tried to think of an acceptable yet completely innocent sounding answer to the hare's question.

"Brigton, Fentip," the Major barked. Two of the hares sprang to attention. "Go investigate. I want to know what those beasts are up to."

"Yes, Major!" the hares barked automatically, marching out the door. Moments later a very confused Greenclaw entered, a bag of scavenged rations in his claws.

"Er, right. What'd I miss?" he asked.

Brigton and Fentip trotted through the streets of Evnakt, eyes peeled for suspicious activity but their conversation deceptively casual.

"Ohoho, Fen, I tell you, I positively cannot put up with this dump much longer."

"I concur, Brig, it's a bit of a pong, wot?"

"I definitely won't be sad to leave. I hope the Major finds what she's jolly well lookin' for soon so we can get out of here. Hush now, Fen, we're almost there."

The two hares turned the corner to go down the last side street that would take them straight to the warehouse.

Only, they would never reach it.


	30. The Boy in the Air Shaft

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 28. The Boy in the Air Shaft**

_by Rea_

After a moment of silence, Thalliv spoke up. "Shall I…ah…provide us a bit more light?" Without waiting for a response, he produced two pieces of flint and turned to a conveniently located torch housed in a bracket just beside the staircase. A moment later, the room's disarray increased as the flickering firelight cast strange shadows along the walls and floor. Thalliv continued to several other torches around the walls, lighting them in turn. "There now, that's better."

"All the better to see nothing," Dirano grumbled mutinously.

"You don't like it, then get, while the gettin's good, cat," Sybil retorted.

"I only meant that there are no obvious clues besides that box," the wildcat hissed. "I'm going to look around!"

_Not a bad idea,_ Rea had to admit. She wandered over to some of the more intact shelves.

Before she could have a proper look, though, her ear twitched in response to something just beyond her conscious awareness. She shook her head, focusing on the specimen jars in front of her, hoping to find one that looked red and brandy-ish. Nevyeer had thoughtfully labeled all his containers, but had also seen fit to write them in the insensible squiggles Antonio called 'letters.' Rea cast a sidelong glance at the brooding mustelid. Well, brooding wasn't quite correct. He seemed bound and determined to straighten the ruined lab, but he did look quite pensive while doing so. Or annoyed. That was certainly a possibility with the severe lack of clues Sarkleyet had given them before they undertook his mission.

Rea didn't even know why she had decided to join the Brandy-hunters. _Speak no falsehoods, little dreamsayer,_ an internal voice that sounded suspiciously like Granny niggled. _Thou be'st full conscious of the reasons for thy actions._ True enough, though. It was a selfish reason, and most likely foolish, but it was a reason nonetheless. Looking for the Brandy gave the young dreamsayer a concrete - hopefully attainable - goal. Running off to save a town? That might prove a bit more difficult. Not only that, but when she did find the Brandy, she could destroy it.

The wolf still recalled her argument with Sarkleyet – _Honestly! What was his mother choking on when she named him?_ – the first night. He'd reprimanded her like a pup and insulted her culture, but she'd backed down. Even then she'd begun to realize that if she 'helped' the Brandy-hunters, she could prevent the violence from escalating. That necessitated _finding_ the Brandy first, though.

Trying to ignore the sound tickling her ears like a persistent, unseen insect, she let her nose lead her down the row until she reached one beside an air shaft leading up to the surface. Pine resin, stale as if taken many seasons ago, coated the inside of an amber pot. The wolf could smell, almost taste the bitter, sticky ichor on her tongue as she had once when lapping at the wound on the Cygne Tree. Every dreamsayer savored that-

"It's a flute!" The wolf realized, slamming a fist into her open paw.

"I hardly think this is the time for playing instruments, Ms. Rea." Antonio sounded exasperated, but the dreamsayer suspected some of that was directed at himself. The stoat kept clenching his jaw whenever he looked about the room, almost as if it physically hurt to be in such a mess.

"No," she resisted the urge to add 'you moron,' "I mean that sound I keep hearing. It's a flute. I can just make it out…" Her ears swiveled toward the air shaft. "I think it's outside." A few tense moments of silence followed before Sybil spoke.

"Don't hear nothin'," she stated.

"Is it even of consequence if there _is_ somebeast playing a flute out in the street?" Dirano wondered aloud. "Just so long as he doesn't know we're down here..."

"Mayhaps this dark mission is confounding your senses." Silisk's hiss sounded far too close for comfort. The wolf's eyes darted automatically to the floor where a clean swatch cutting through the dust and debris tracked the snake's progress. She had slithered by, just a paw's length away, silent and unnoticed. The wolf repressed a shudder. "Hark!" A beat. "I hear nothing of this phantom flute."

_Do you even _have_ ears to hear with?_ The wolf almost sneered, but thought better of it. Silisk did not warrant snapping at for such an innocent comment. She wasn't a bird, not the slightest bit related to one, but for some reason her existence set Rea's teeth on edge. Her very presence engendered unfounded fear and distrust in the dreamsayer. Why? Only Siren knew.

Shaking her head to clear it, the wolf considered her almost-words again. It _was_ an interesting question. Rea hadn't seen any sort of ears on the snake. How _did_ she hear?

On the verge of asking honestly, a sharp note in the music caught the dreamsayer's attention. Abandoning her survey of the hopeless wreck of an apothecary's lab, she pressed her ear to the opening, cheek resting half in the shaft and half against the cool stone wall. It reminded her of something. No, somebeast. There was nothing pleasant about the music - no airy melody or upbeat tempo. It sounded more like…

_"Papa?" Rea rubbed at the sleep still gumming her vision as she padded out of their den and approached. The sun held steady in the arctic summer sky, though the young wolf's internal clock told her 'dawn' had not yet arrived._could_ make one. Grandsire called him…'indecentive'._She found herself darting through the forest, breath coming in short gasps as she struggled to suppress the tears threatening to overwhelm her. She needed to see this. _Needed_ it whatever Mother or Father said.curare_ herself, and his Passing shall be swift. From her eyne the tears shall fall…but not afore thy heart hast wept. Thou-"_

"Rea?" Papa started, nearly dropping his flute and falling off the rock he sat on. "I'm sorry, Pinenut, did I wake you?"

"S'okay," she yawned, crawling up onto his lap and licking at his chin. "Granny said I should start getting up early anyway, as part of my dreamsayer training."

"That so?" the elder wolf asked tersely.

"Papa, what's wrong?" Rea felt the anxiety in her father's body – taut like a drawn bow string. Not only that, but… "Your flute just now, it sounded so…ugly? Angry? Are you mad at somebeast? At me?"

Papa considered her for a moment before replying. "Not at you, Pinenut," he sighed heavily, but the younger wolf relaxed. "I've just…made a choice about something and three creatures are going to be very upset with me because of it, one of them being myself."

"Oh." That made no sense. Why would Papa get angry at himself for making a choice? He was usually so happy when he

Her father had gone quiet and, unsure how to comfort him, Rea reached up to stroke the fur on his cheek, as Mama did sometimes. Only, she never had the chance to pet him properly because a moment later…

"Thou art planning to watch Grandsire's Passing Ceremony," Rea heard herself speaking from far away. The lips and tongue forming the archaic speech of the dreamsayers were not hers, nor the hooded yellow gaze that stared up at Papa with predatory interest.

"Pinenut?" Papa's voice sounded both surprised and concerned. "How did… Why are you-"

"Thou darest to gaze upon what no wolf should…the Passing of an alpha. Certes, thou knowest our ways, Armael Lightbringer. Thou art bold and brash to contravene them."

"Stop it, Rea." The elder wolf's hackles rose and he bared his teeth. "Stop it now."

"But thou wilt see as thou expectest. Grandsire's limbs grow weary. Cayenne, his dreamsayer and mate, shall complete the ritual. She hath prepared the

"I said stop!" Papa backpawed her, breaking their contact as she tumbled out of his lap and hit the ground hard.

"P-Papa?" Rea's voice and eyes belonged to her again. She stared up at her father, tears running down her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't m-mean to touch you if y-y-you don't l-like it. But I-I thought M-Mama-"

"Armael? Rea? What's going on?" Drawn by the commotion, more wolves began poking their heads out of nearby dens.

"Rea, I'm sorry." Papa's eyes grew wide as he realized what he had done. "Oh, Pinenut, I'm so sorry!" Throwing down his flute, the elder wolf slid from the rock so that he crouched next to his daughter and hugged her in a tight embrace. "Rea, my Rea. Papa's so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, but you scared me when you started talking about…"

"About what?" Rea sniffled, confused, as she buried her snout in her father's neck.

"There's blood," he said abruptly, reaching to touch the scarred side of her face that still bled so easily.

"What?"

"I said I smell blood," Aras growled, a hint of – no, it couldn't be longing; those sorts of wolverines died out ages ago – interest in his voice. "It's strongest near you, Rea. Can't you smell it?"

"Smell?" Shaking off the remnants of the strange memory, the dreamsayer took in a great whiff and gagged.

"Ugh!" Rea pushed away from the wall, unprepared for the sight that greeted her next. Blood dripped from the top of the air shaft and oozed down the wall in front of her, a black mouth drooling red.

"Siren's tail!" the wolf swore, paw flying to her face to feel the sticky wetness where the foul liquid had penetrated her fur.

"_Brandy.  
Brandy.  
Tastes like a candy.  
But what of Red?  
It's blood instead?  
I wonder, wonder, wonder!_"

The shaft sang. "I wonder if it's blood. Do you creatures down there know? I like blood. Oh, I love blood so. And I hate it! Hate it! But I'll love the blood that's given; the blood I take. Won't you come up? Come up, come up, whoever you are! I'd love to chat. One on one. One on two. One on twelve? I'm _very_ flexible when it comes to chatting beasts up."

"Who are you?" Antonio demanded, the first to regain his composure.

"Me? I'm me, Castille. Not interesting." The toothy smirk in Castille's voice made Rea's hackles rise and her ears press back against her skull. "But you. You sound interesting. Are you the wolverine? Not very wolverine sounding, you. I've never met a wolverine to be honest, but you _just_ don't sound like one. A pompous little weasel, maybe? Yes. That's what you sound like. Sorry, I mean to be rude, you understand."

"My name is Antonio Calceterre," the mustelid spat. "I am a stoat and an accountant in the services of His Royal-"

"Definitely pompous," Castille intoned. The wolf had trouble repressing a snicker. On some level, she had to agree with the disembodied, decidedly disturbing voice.

"Tell me, then, astute one," Antonio gritted through clenched teeth, "why is it that you hide in the darkness and prattle away without action like some wretched invalid? Why not show yourself? Or are you just _that_ ugly?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm handsome, but not ugly, no," the voice replied amiably enough. "Are you interested, Mr. Calcepompandcircumstance? Are you courting me? I love a good courting. All the teasing and testing and tantalizing touches that torment the body and soul."

"Steady on," Rea cautioned, uncertain of the meaning of many of Castille's words, but catching the gist from his tone. Looking around, fully expecting Antonio to fire back a volley of insults, it surprised the wolf to see the stoat had actually heeded her words. Not only that, but his expression left little to the imagination of what he _might_ have said. His face pulled to one side, ears flat, lips drawn down with teeth bared, shoulders hunched, and left eye twitching irregularly, the accountant looked, in short, the very picture of disgust.

_What's got his tail in a twist?_ the wolf wondered fleetingly before the more sensible side of her being spoke up. "Let's just-"

"Leave," Sybil finished.

"Two more? Oh! Lucky ladies. But what _kind_?" Castille sounded so genuinely curious, Rea had to bite back the introduction she was about to make.

"But what of yon box?" Silisk eyed the shaft as if considering whether or not to slither up and see just who dared to threaten her. "We've yet to divine its secrets. And we've nothing to show for our endeavors in this place save this crude construct."

"We can come back later when the nutjob ain't here," the marten suggested sensibly.

"Oh, that hurts, lovely lady," Castille pouted. "I'm not a nutjob. I'm not even a squirrel!" A full three seconds passed.

"Hahah! I get it!" Thalliv grabbed his muzzle in both paws and clamped it shut, having the decency to look embarrassed.

"Well, at least some creatures appreciate humor," the disembodied voice sniffed.

"It was a _bit_ funny," the dreamsayer admitted. She had nearly joined the grandiose weasel in his giggling, but managed to hold off. The stupid joke had reminded her so much of her little brother. _Eloi…_ The little git always had the dullest sense of humor.

Dirano ignored the wolf's comment. "How are we even supposed to leave with 'the nutjob' outside? He doesn't seem the sort to just let us walk out of here."

"Of course I am!" Castille interjected. "Do you know how much work it would be to drag seven corpses about? It is seven, yes? All of you wonderful creatures have spoken? Yes?"

"No, we got another score o' beasts down here," Sybil invented. Rea and the others gave her incredulous looks. The acrobatic marten shrugged, her expression plain: _Doesn't hurt t'try._

"Tsk! Lovely lady! _Lying_ lady!" The voice sounded annoyed now. "Lovely lying lady shouldn't dissemble. No, no, no. I don't like liar's blood. It has a bad taste, like it's been fermenting in the veins for far too long. I don't like it, not at all! But I'm not so picky about my drinks. The bad makes me appreciate the good ever so much more. Don't you think that's how it is with everything?"

"Gather around me," Antonio commanded, so suddenly and forcefully that everybeast did so. He'd obviously overcome his revulsion. "Look, I've just noticed something," the stoat carried on in a whisper once they all crowded around him. "There." He pointed to the table they stood beside. "Parchment scattered everywhere."

"Not exactly the time t'be complain' about the mess," Sybil snorted.

"Hardly, Ms. Sybil," Antonio replied in the same tone as he might say: 'And you are the illegitimate child of a pauper, too.' He picked up a sheet with an official-looking wax seal. "This particular piece here has such interesting things to tell… Oh! Forgive me!" He sounded apologetic, had all the inflections right, but something still made Rea want to smack him. "You are illiterate. Well, for your benefit, and Ms. Rea's, there is a letter here from one of Nevyeer's servants. It is difficult to decipher such poor penmanship, but I can just make it out…"

"Why so quiet all of the sudden?" the voice in the air shaft wondered. "Is something secret happening? I don't much like secrets, you know. Almost as bad as lies. Secrets and lies! Terrible things." No one spoke for ten seconds. "Well, if you're not going to keep chatting with me and you won't come up, I suppose I'll _have_ to come down."

"Are you intent on bringing harm to yourself, ser?" Silisk scoffed. "There are seven of us and one of you."

"Won't that make it interesting?" Castille chuckled and Rea felt a shiver travel down her spine.

"We need to get out," the wolverine rumbled. "Now. That creature is mad and I don't feel much like fighting him."

"Agreed." Antonio nodded, not looking at him, instead running his eyes quickly over the letter. "We withdraw for now and make for the forest."

"Wait. Why? What does the message say?" the wolf asked.

The accountant sighed as he folded the paper quickly and placed it in his breast pocket. "Much more than I have time to read at the moment. There is a bit at the end, though: 'How far can I walk into the wood? Only as far as the three seasons fox sitting on the hundred seasons' golden head.'"

"That's nonsense." Rea's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, and we can make sense out of it when we're out of here," Dirano piped up, already leading the way to the staircase. "Fates! You'd think we were on a lovely picnic with the way you two are blabbering on."

"I just wanted to know–" Unease swept over the dreamsayer suddenly as the cat's footpaw touched the first step. It felt like when Sybil had gone off to meet with Sarkleyet: forbidding. "Wait! There's something off!"

"Aye," the marteness scoffed. "Maniac outside. Get a grip, wolf."

Something told her getting a grip was the least of _her_ worries.


	31. You Only Live Twice

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 29. You Only Live Twice. Once When You're Born, and Once When You Look Death in the Face**

_by Dirano_

To Dirano, the fuss seemed rather overdone. All of these beasts, cramped in a basement, it just wasn't natural. Why were they here again? Supposedly it was for the Brandy, that spirit that Sarkleyet had needed for some reason. At least that was the impression he had gleaned from the sound of his companions' idiotic chatter.

"Have you found it yet?" the cat called. _It had better have been found after all this time. _

The stoat shot him a dirty look. "If by 'it' you are asking if I have in fact found a cat who can keep his mouth shut whilst I am trying to concentrate, then no, I have not." Another glare indicated that Antonio considered it in Dirano's best interest to keep his mouth shut.

Anybeast who said that to Dirano so casually had no idea who they were talking to. Just because a beast has certain 'tastes' does not mean that they should be written off as being just another member of the lower orders of society! And Dirano had just about enough.

It was bad enough that beasts like Pearl had no appreciation for the value he brought to their wares. It was damaging also to Dirano to know that most of the group had already discounted him, thinking that he would be a weak link.

Antonio must have noticed the expression on the cat's face, as he placed a paw on Dirano's shoulder. The grip of the stoat was actually greater than it appeared to be.

"Look," Antonio began, "It is just…you have not contributed very much. If you want to matter, you'll have to start pulling your own weight around here. Each one of us has a purpose here, a plan. Except for you, oh Mr. Handsome, what is your role? Is it to comment? To criticize every move we make? One can only afford such a luxury of taking a back seat when he has contributed something."

Quite the opposite of what Antonio had been intending; his words only had the effect of making Dirano even more upset. Maybe they had struck a little close to home? Could it be possible that the stoat was speaking the truth? Frustration and rage welled up inside the cat as he mulled upon that topic he had been earnestly trying to avoid. Was he a burden? Even if they went all the way to the Brandy, and recovered it, where would he fit in? The answer was nowhere. Dirano had been born without a purpose, a beast of the spring; his life had been carefree until now.

Shaking, Dirano clenched his paws, and opened them. He repeated this, until he was almost calmed down. His doubts, however were not. "I just…want to be remembered. That's all I really ask for. I want to show that I can do something- that I am not just another useless pretty face."

The stoat seemed to recognize the calm that had overtaken Dirano. Subsequently, he released the pressure on the shoulder and removed his paw entirely. Looking Dirano in the eye, he gave a small shake of his head.

"Dirano, if you want to be known after you are gone, all you have to do is-"

Two things happened then, not simultaneously but still too close together for comfort... The first event was a small commotion near the front of the crowded space. Evidently somebeast had noticed something unusual. Then, everyone inside the room noticed too. It was unmistakable in tone and quality. It was the sound of a flute. Dirano briefly wondered where it had come from, but he had not long to wait to discover the source.

A voice began to speak, from somewhere up in the rafters. The message the voice imparted sounded sinister, even menacing. The message it contained was even less pleasant than the voice. It sounded like the voice of a crazy beast, one who was not right in the head. The rest of the group were trying to figure out how to deal with the speaker, and also trying to figure out from whence he was talking. They challenged this 'Castille', and in return they only got petty insults and threats.

Eventually, it was decided that the best course of action would be to leave, and fast. Dirano heartily agreed with this course of action. The very timbre of Castille's voice seemed to exude danger. And not to be even afraid of a wolverine? What foolhardy creature would insinuate such a thing?

To give everyone fair credit, nobeast could have ever predicted the second event. A bloodcurdling scream sounded from somewhere outside. Even from in the basement, the plaintive cry could be heard. It was not a scream of a dying beast, but of a live one. Check that, two screams could be heard. The second was that of sheer terror.

That might not have been so bad, if it had just stopped there. Normally it would have just been fine to assume it was the Felldoh's Heirs, up to their usual fanatical deeds.  
If only that voice- calm, soft spoken- voice had not intoned again from that inaccessible place.

"Six? Six? One half of a dozen maybe, six of one in another. Very interesting of course. I hardly get visitors. But then, Visitors rarely 'get' me. I'm a rare sort of creature, or do you prefer medium? Those beasties outside, they did not much prefer my company, so I sent them away. Nasty blighters aren't they? Who would think a beast would complain so much that his blood really ought not to be taken from him. He's got plenty, I told him, enough to share."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group when the voice stopped talking. Some of the other beasts were making quiet steps toward the stairs. Dirano was in front, for once. If he could not make himself known, he could at least lead the charge out of this place.

The silky voice spoke again, and this time, Dirano was pushed over the edge with what it said.

"I mean, I had enough to share. But what about you? Do you mind sharing it amongst yourselves? What about a free sample? I've been dying to see what you all taste like."

An undignified scramble up the stairs followed, with Dirano in front of the pack. Unfortunately, through the cruel twist of fate, such an eventuality had been prepared for. The minute Dirano stepped on that top step, and saw the light from the doorway it happened. His footpaw caught in the perfectly devised loop snare that had been set sometime after they had arrived. With a yell, the cat shot upward, barely having time to call out.

"Help me!"

Hanging upside down above the height of even the tallest of the group, it was a hopeless situation. It might not have been so, if any beast had pole or a spear, but here it was not feasible. Dirano knew from the horrified looks of group that they were powerless to help him.

_For he was being pulled upward._

The speed of the wire was such that Dirano could not even reach inside his garments for something to cut it with. With despair in his voice, he called out to Antonio. At the very least, he could say a farewell. It was not a loud call, but something akin to a whisper, which he could only hope the stoat could hear.

"Remember me. Whatever happens, remember that I was here, that I traveled with you!"

Then Dirano's head must have hit a beam, for he remembered none of what happened after.

When he came to, the first sensation he experienced was a horrendous smell. It was all around him, the stench of death.

Almost afraid as to what he might see, he opened his eyes. Immediately he wished he had not done so.

Two hare corpses were tied down to two chairs in front of him. Their heads had been cut off, and placed upon their laps. Their frozen expressions were full of the utmost misery and pain.

Panicked, Dirano tried to leave but found that he could not. Each of his four paws was tied to a separate beam, leaving his entire body suspended in midair. He tugged and tugged,but to no avail. Whosoever had tied these bonds had known exactly what he was doing. A cry of despair escaped from the cat's mouth.

He was still in the warehouse, but it had long been vacated by his group. To make matters even worse, the sadistic beast that had done this had placed him in full view of the exit. Even now, Dirano could see the rays of the sun coming from the half open doorway.

If the cat had any thoughts about calling for help, they were instantly dispelled. From somewhere near his ear emanated that now all too recognizable flute music.

The shrill dirge circled around the empty space, until the player came to face him. Dirano looked up at the beast, and was intrigued despite himself of the strangeness of his captor.

The beast was about Sybil's height, though obviously a male. His fur was a reddish brown mixture, although slightly discolored in places. His eyes were black as night, and they were unsettling to look at. They were the eyes of a beast that was either the smartest beast in the land, or the most insane Marty that ever lived. His clothing was compromised of a long sleeve white tunic, over which he wore a vest. Those articles however, could not disguise the obvious muscular strength of his upper torso. Adjoining his waist were slacks, around which was a belt. Dirano recognized this article as the belt he had used to store his 'cocktails', and realized that this beast now had his weapons.

"Before you ask what I am, or who I am, let me introduce myself." The creature spoke smoothly and calmly. That, combined with Dirano's current situation was very unnerving. "My name is Castille," the creature informed him, "and I am a sable. Not a very common sight, us sables. We don't get visitors very often."

Dirano kept his mouth shut tight. This beast was, besides being his captor, clearly insane. This little 'introduction' could go nowhere pleasant. That he was sure of.

Castille put his flute on top of one of the deceased hare's snouts. Striding over to where Dirano was bound, he placed a paw on top of the cat's head. "Oh dear, looks like we have something of a fever, tsk, tsk what shall we do about that?"

The sable reached behind the chairs to a place the cat could not see. Dirano briefly considered struggling against his bonds, but thought better of it. It might only make the sable angry.

Castille took what looked like a beaker out from behind the chairs and held it up to eye level. Facing Dirano again, he pried open the cat's jaw with one paw. By now, Dirano was too tired and weak from the ropes to resist. The warm liquid sloshed inside his mouth for a few seconds before Castille closed his mouth for him. Tilting Dirano's head back, he made him swallow it.

"That's better. Dear auld mum's recipe for fever. Rest her soul." the sable muttered. Then without any explanation, he took the beaker himself and finished the rest of its contents. After a brief pause, he threw the breaker over his shoulder to the ground where it shattered into many pieces.

Dirano felt somehow better after drinking the brew. It tasted strangely familiar though, as if he had known the substance all of his life. Sputtering and coughing a little, he decided it was time to break his silence.

"I know not who you are but my name is-"

Castille put a paw to the cat's lips, cutting him off. "Dirano, I already know who you are. You cannot lie to me." His eyes took on a sinister hue as he said this, and a warped smile lit his features. "Garry told me all about you. Dear old Garry, he is always dependable and truthful. Anyway, I am getting off subject. He told me all of your little 'plans' and all of your little 'schemes' and I just had to laugh. Imagine a creature acting so petty and judgmental, especially one who lives a life like you do?"

Dirano just glared at his captor when he said this. When the sable had the gall to laugh in his face, the cat mustered all of his efforts and spit into his ugly muzzle.

Suddenly the laughter stopped. Castille looked deathly serious as he wiped the spittle off of his face. He looked hurt, disappointed even. In a strange twisted way, he had taken Dirano's defiant act personally.

"And here I was thinking we could have been closer than this," Castille intoned sadly. "I even gave you your own blood to drink."

Upon hearing this, Dirano suddenly started to feel faint. The room seemed to be more blurry, and he was losing his focus. He found his voice gradually.

"My-my _blood_-As in I drank my own blood?" Even as he said this, he looked down to his chest. He could clearly see a cable going through it, and apparently coming out again. Surprisingly there was no blood. He could not see where the cable led, nor did he care at the moment.

"Don't worry, Dirano," Castille said. "I stitched it right back up after I was done. There was minimal blood loss, although I was able to increase my private stores. I have never tasted cat before, but there's a first time for everything."

With new hatred, Dirano put all of his energy into an outpouring of disgust and outrage. "You are a monster, oh you are! No wonder you that many talk of you the way that they do! I know what kind of character you are. I have seen your type before. You're just another nut, in an island full of nuts!"

"Hush, hush, cat, hold your tongue," Castille cooed, gently slapping Dirano's cheeks as he did so.

Coming in close to Dirano's face, he gave a final declaration. "I am going to kill you now. You must understand that. However, I heard what you were saying down there and I fully emphasize with your situation, having been there myself. Tell you what, when I'm through with you, I'll hang your decomposed carcass from the walls of Sarkleyet's mansion. He'll know my greeting, and he'll remember you for a lo-o-ng time."

He seemed to ponder for a minute. "Oh, your companions will see you too when they come back. Maybe one will even recall what you look like." He shrugged, than made a wry face. "I want you to tell me when you're ready for me to do it. Any last regrets you wish to clear up?"

Dirano did not have to think hard on this matter. He had always though that when the day came to draw his last breath, that he would have no regrets. That was regrettably made untrue by today's circumstances. What was lost could never be regained. If only he had had more time upon this world-

_He recalled her sleek form, her perfect body. His mouth watered with the idea of the soft touch of her fur. After all this time, all of his lechery now meant nothing. Only one beast was right for him, he who had never believed in monogamy. Betrayals were nothing now, neither was his own callousness. He wanted her more now than ever, even though he knew that was impossible. Maybe in death, maybe in life-_

"Emma." The final word ever to leave Dirano' lips and it was a fitting end. So much heartbreak was wrought, so much sorrow to culminate in this?

Castille nodded, and turned away from Dirano. Bending over, he removed the cat's crossbow from behind another chair. Dirano could see that the other half of the cable was tied to the bolt.

Picking it up, Castille moved some distance from Dirano. As tension was put upon the line, Dirano was aware of something heavy skidding across the floor behind him.

Aiming towards the doorway, Castille made sure that the crossbow was wound tight.

Then he fired the bolt.

Immediately the bolt shot out of the crossbow speeding along towards the sunlight.  
Something else was speeding also, pulled along by the sheer force.

Time stopped. Dirano felt a great pain and looked down to see where it came from. A short spear was protruding through his chest. The velocity had attained such that it had ripped straight through his body. The tip was covered in blood; and through misted and rapidly hazing vision; Dirano saw that the spear had ripped the lower part of his heart straight out of his body. His entrails were pouring through the hole as well and part of his intestines was wrapped around the spear handle.

Time resumed course once again. With hardly a moan or a groan, Dirano slumped forward, dead.

Of course he never noticed the part of the cable tied around the spear haft near the spear head.


	32. You Got Mud on My Suit!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 30. You Got Mud on My Suit!**

_by Antonio_

Dirano was dead. Dirano, the occasionally useful, mostly irritating, somewhat well-dressed cat, was dead. In all probability. Furthermore he was murdered. More than likely. Furthermore, he was murdered by a beast still on their trail.

Night's cold bite had no intensity out here in the jungle. Evnara was quite the humid island and the trees and plant life dwarfing their camp from all angles only intensified the feeling of claustrophobia. Condensation thrived here as well, meaning that everything was wet. Moisture combined with warmth did not make for a pleasant evening. At the same time, there was cold. Even after the occasional stray gust from the ocean lucky enough to make it this far inland. Antonio pulled himself closer to the fire, wondering why it was only he who could not sleep and why nobeast else seemed to feel this strange coldness.

He soon found out that he was not the only beast. Silisk came slithering out of the dark, perching herself beside Antonio. He felt her scales brush against his arm and found himself wincing slightly. Silisk used those scales to get around. It was like sombeast brushing their earth-clogged footpaws against him. With finesse he was able to make the involuntary action look like a shiver.

"I see I am not the only beast in yon troupe who feels the lack of warmth on this night," said the snake. Curious how she could speak so clearly despite her obvious impediments. Her intellect, too, was something very uncommon among her breed from what Antonio had read.

"I find myself unable to sleep tonight. When one's brain moves as much as mine, sleep does not come easy after such a busy day," said Antonio.

"Which is what led to our previous meeting in Sarkleyet's mansion, correct?" asked Silisk.

"Correct."

The adder gave a quick glance to her right and left. "And in the interest of our mutual agreement made then, I feel as though I should tell you an extra bit of knowledge which I gleaned from that night regarding yon marten beast and Sarkleyet."

"Really?"

Although Antonio's eyebrows were raised far above the level associated with simple surprise – it was half a claw length for slight surprise, a full claw length for surprise and a claw and a half length for extreme surprise; he knew because he had measured – he did not feel the information anything but dubious. It would be gossip that exited from Silisk's mouth if it had anything to do with Sarkleyet's relationship with Sybil. Moreover it was gossip that everybeast already knew.

"Sarkleyet has poisoned Sybil."

Antonio's eyebrows remained where they were. This time the surprise was real.

"When?"

"Naught but a night ago. I was passing through the grounds in the night when I espied something that led me to her and Sarkleyet's meeting. There I happened upon the despicable deed."

"Why?"

"This I know not, although my best guess is that it was a sort of ransom in order to obtain the loyalty of the marten beast."

Sinking so low as to poison sombeast in order to obtain their services? Not only was Sarkleyet mad, he was a despicable coward. Only beasts unfit to defend themselves hid behind their potions and their apothecary to achieve their ends. Antonio would do the world a favor to eliminate him at this journey's end.

Why Sybil, though? Why not poison somebeast with more value, such as himself? Antonio felt what he thought might have been jealously but quickly disregarded the notion. He would not have been jealous over something so…petty.

"The poison acts slowly as far as I can comprehend," said Silisk. "Sybil must take an antidote every so often in order to remain alive.

Antonio gave a "Hm," in understanding. It certainly would have explained Sybil's behavior at the warehouse.

The warehouse. They'd only just narrowly escaped. At least he supposed they had narrowly escaped; there pursuer had not shown himself since. He had not even shown himself before, even as Dirano was dragged up through the ceiling. As per the course, Antonio felt his mind drift to the expression on Dirano's face as he was hoisted above, so much chaos igniting afterward.

"What just happened?"

"Did Dirano just–"

"Where did that –"

Ignoring the barrage of sentence fragments, Antonio shouted, "_Ladies and gentlement, your attention please_!" They all stopped, following his orders. At least they could do that much in a crisis. "Dirano has been indisposed thanks to a boobie trap. We must give our full attention to examining the path ahead as we swiftly exit. Rea, you have senses superior to us, you shall join me at the front of the line. Aras, you bring up the rear with Sybil and keep a look out in case that vile cur from the air vent decides to finally show his disfigured face and attack us from behind. Should I command you all to duck, you all will do so and Mister Thalliv, whom I will thank kindly to stop _running away_ and instead come back here so he can be of actual use to us, shall assume that I mean him to fire and thusly fire in the direction of any danger. Silisk, you stay where you are and take care that you do not fall from my shoulders. Is that understood?"

"We can't just leave him!" The outburst came from Rea. Antonio found he was not very surprised.

"Miss Rea, would you kindly consider –"

"He might still be alive. We can't just abandon one of our own. What sort of Alpha are you?"

Amidst the confusion brought by what Rea had said – what was she talking about, what was an "alpha"? – Antonio found himself hesitating. He looked at the pock-marked ceiling, eyes lingering on the large gap through which Dirano had disappeared. There was no sign of moment.

"Miss Rea, consider if you will the safety of the remainder of the group. To tarry here would spell certain doom for the lot of us. Dirano's…fate is…regrettable, but there is nothing we can do, unless, of course, one of you has a pair of wings hidden in their haversack. Now, kindly take your place at the head of the line."

Antonio did not waste time trying to see if Rea reluctantly or begrudgingly followed his orders, no matter how much the urge to turn around tugged at him. At least Thalliv had fallen back in line. As quick as they could manage while surveying the way ahead, Antonio's group made haste to the top of the stair. The warehouse grounds spread out before them, blank and foreboding. Antonio's vision searched for anything resembling a trip-wire or snare, but found his attention tugged away by the disheveled remnants of an experiment to one side or an untidy work desk to the other. He closed his eyes, shook his head. When he could sight no traps, he was sure there were none. He would have noticed them if they were there, keen senses that he had.

As they jogged onward, a noise from behind caused Antonio to turn around. Sybil and Aras were not the brightest of beasts – although Aras had shown yet more hidden talent as of late with his discovery of a hidden room – and so, agile defenders as they were, may not have thought to sound the alarm should something creep up behind them. After sighting nothing, Antonio was about to turn back around when Rea snatched him. Not courteously informed him of any danger, not nudged, not carefully grabbed, but _snatched_ him, stopping him from moving any further. He looked down to see a trip-wire mere inches from his footpaw. The light must have obscured it before.

Rea must have read the frustration hidden behind Antonio's eyes; she released him moments after callously gripping his arm with all the strength of a berserker. Antonio adjusted his clothing before properly thanking the wolf. Her method may have been uncouth but she had prevented him from befalling disaster.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry."

Antonio frowned. He cursed himself silently. He had let his anger show. Now she would become upset and if she was upset she would be less likely to follow directions, thus less likely to follow _him_.

"It is quite alright," he assured her.

"I'm very sorry. Really."

He was about to ask just what it was she was sorry about when Silisk hissed in his ear, causing him to jump slightly.

"Sir Antonio, hark! Dost thou hear yon noise?"

There was indeed a great clamor coming from the rooftop. A sound of heavy pawsteps combined with a dragging noise emanated through the entire warehouse. The noises morphed into a ceramic warning rattle thanks to the shoddy roof design of the decrepit building.

Antonio quickly and carefully stepped over the tripwire, instructing his group to do the same. Fifty agonizingly slow paces and they were at the door to the warehouse, the rattle like that of some giant serpent continuing to rustle in their ears.

"Our foe is clearly upon the roof, expecting the rest of us to show ourselves," explained Antonio. "There is cover within running distance in that direction." He pointed to a makeshift barricade that must have been used in the past to confine the 'Marties' to this half of the city. Furniture limbs twined with other rubble, making for a well-contstructed interwoven structure. Still, it hurt to look at.

"When I signal, we shall run as fast as possible to that cover. Ready? And…_now_!"

Thalliv more than outright outstripped him, with Sybil as a close second but still unable to run much quicker than Antonio. Behind he could hear Aras making his way. Beside Antonio ran Rea, who continued to give him that blasted look despite how they were now more or less running for their lives. Petty things such as who touched whom did not matter with a mentally ill villain on your heels.

Evnakt's streets must have once been clean and efficient things before the disaster. But the city itself was obviously not at all storm-proof and so debris barred the way to the barricade, making direct movement limited. One had to examine the way ahead and think quickly or one would fall, just as Sybil did when they were more than half way there.

The marten's feet flew out from under her as she slipped on a spare rock. Her knees instantly collided with the ground with enough force to knock her backpack off of her shoulders. As Antonio passed her, he stopped. Roughly grabbing her under the arms, he hoisted her to her footpaws. He bent over to retrieve the backpack next.

"Get yer filthy claws offa that!" she spit at him, more literally than figuratively as actual beads of spittle flew from her lips to be dodged by a wary Antonio. So startled was he by her outburst that he complied immediately, dropping the bag and letting her carry it the rest of the way to the barricade.

Panting breaths were all Antonio heard. The run was only a short distance. Why was everybeast winded so? His attention was immediately drawn to the rapid rising and falling of his own chest. Well, perhaps it _had_ been a bit of a run.

"Does anybeast hear anything?" asked Antonio.

Everybeast shook their heads. As their collective breathing slowed, the ambient noise of the city filtered in. Nowhere within it was the shrill cry of a flute or the weighty stomping of a beast with a body in tow.

"So he's not following us anymore," said Sybil.

"Not quite," Antonio rebuked her, albeit a tad reluctantly owing to how she had snarled at him moments ago. "We may very well still be pursued. The excrement of a knave we encountered in that warehouse was able to set up a trap for Dirano without us even knowing of it. Stealth is clearly his expertise." Antonio began to laugh. "More than likely, the poor fool is not much of a fighter."

"Don't assume that," said Ikaras. "He sounded crazy. Crazy's dangerous."

"Right you are, Mister Aras. And I have no intention of merely assuming his weakness." _Convinced as I am he would not be able to hold out more than five second's span against somebeast of my skill_. "Which is precisely why we must stick together, Mister Thalliv." The grit of anger began to creep back into Antonio's voice as he saw the pitiful servant begin to creep off once more.

"Now," Antonio continued, "we need to get our bearings. We must find a secluded area in which we can take shelter as well as a place along the way to our destination. Which reminds me, has anybeast made anything of that daft riddle I discovered?"

Besides being poorly scrawled onto the parchment with an over abundance of simple script errors, the poorly constructed prose did not posses a scrape of sense. "How far can a beast walk into the woods?" Was there a more subjective question? However far a beast could walk into the woods depended solely on who that beast was, what their motives were, what provisions they were carrying, what wears they –

"Half-way."

Everybeast looked at Rea.

"Half-way into the woods. You can only walk half-way _in_, the other half you spend walking _out_."

"Then that must be where our goal is. I believe I may know the way." Again, Silisk hissed this very close to his ear. Antonio wished greatly that she would stop doing that.

"In any case, our goal lies in the jungle as, clearly, there are no woods on this island. Therefore, we shall set up camp near there and enter in on the morrow; the sun is setting and we do not want darkness to encroach on our mission, not with the possibility of somebeast following us." _Harmless as he may prove to be._

Everybeast silently agreed. There was no noise all the way to the threshold of the forest, nothing to disturb Antonio's swiftly working mind other than the helter-skelter debris, the slip-shod construction of the still intact buildings and the more than occasional glare from Sybil each time he got a bit too close to her backpack.

"It is not as if I do not appreciate this information, Silisk, but why are you telling me this?" asked Antonio.

"I am merely honoring our agreement."

Yes, there was that. "Thank you, Silisk."

All the better that they preserved such cornerstones of civilization as agreements and contracts in this increasingly dissolving scenario. This mission was proving increasingly more perilous than Antonio had anticipated. Where he had thought a half-destroyed city would mean less forces of resistance instead meant more obstacles in their way in the form of demolished buildings, opportunistic woodlanders, deranged plague contractors, a psychopathic and more than likely cannibalistic hunter and other such unsightly edifices and creatures. Moreover, his group was showing tell-tale signs of dissolving from the inside out. One of their ranks was poisoned. Another of their ranks was gone. Dirano was gone. Deceased, rather. Probably.

Such unrest only opened up the possibility for treachery and retreat as Thalliv himself had attempted in the midst of the chaos. Antonio would need a way to prevent further threats of insurrection.

"If you will pardon me for a moment, there is something to which I must attend," said Antonio to Silisk.

He crossed the camp in search of Thalliv. Though the servant may not know his place, there was a chance that he had the needed supplies.

"Morning, all!"

His cheerful-as-he-could-manage cheer was met with only despairing grunts and groans from his group with the exception of a still visibly shaken Thalliv. Antonio found his faith in his little troupe fading fast. Nobeast could get anywhere if they did not greet the morning with vigor.

Begrudgingly, he granted them a short grace period in which to pack their sleeping bags and consume breakfast. Antonio himself had done both of these long before they had awoken, although it had taken him considerably longer than they; his infernal sleeping bag refused to roll properly, causing him to restart nearly ten times so he could make sure it was perfectly aligned when he rolled it. He'd cursed all the way but luckily nobeast had been awake to hear his disturbance.

"Anybeast hear some shoutin' and carryin' on about last night?" asked a clearly weary Aras. Damn that wolverine's ears.

"Gather around, all, there is something which I must show you."

With considerable pride Antonio unfurled his previous night's labor. The parchment stretched about a foot, limited space with which to work, but, struggled though he might have, he valiantly completed his task and had only to wait for this rabble to recognize his efforts before he could reap the praise.

"It's paper. No doubt that'll save our miserable hides."

He stood, dumbfounded at Sybil's comment.

"It's not _just_ paper," Rea corrected her. Antonio began to brighten. Rea was much more perceptive than she looked. After her deciphering of the riddle the previous day as well as rescuing him from the boobie trap, he was considering changing his mind about her, despite her intellectual limitations. "It's a paper with, what did you all call that squiggly stuff? Writing, that's it. It's a paper with writing on it," she finished. Some things never changed.

"It is a contract," said Thalliv. Finally, something useful from the sniveling coward. Now if he would only stop running like a scared little cub at the cue of every loud noise.

"Mister Thalliv is quite correct. Last night, I realized that our quest is a mite more perilous than first anticipated. Because of this, it is imperative that we stick together, honor one another and assist everybeast. You may read it if you so desire, but for the benefit of those less…literate than the rest of us, I shall summarize. What this contract basically says is that whomever signs it agrees to do their utmost to assist the team in retrieving the Red Brandy and that they agree that they will in no way, shape or form betray the trust of the rest of the team."

"What's that mean in normal speech?" asked Sybil.

Aras explained. "Everybeast do your best and don't stab anybeast in the back." The wolverine didn't at all sound enthused.

"Pray, I understand the majority of the symbols, but what signifies the strange markings?" said Silisk.

Antonio wrinkled his brow. "Strange markings?'

"Yes, the ones that reign over the entire left side of the document."

"Those? Those are merely small corrections I had to make to the document. Writing in quill without scrap parchment does not make for a clean final draft."

"You made errors all along the left side of the document?"

Antonio winced. He had made a few errors on the left of the parchment near the beginning, before he could get his thoughts organized. But he hadn't made errors all up and down that side. He had blackened that section out because with the scratched out words hither and thither, the page was unbalanced, uneven.

"Yes. No. That is…that is beside the point. This document is more a symbol of our mutual trust and as such we should all sign it. I have already read and signed it, as you can see." He gestured to his near perfect signature at the bottom. It would have been completely perfect if only that "o" didn't lean slightly too much to the right. "Silisk, so as to compensate for your…handicap, would you permit me to sign for you as soon as you have read the document?"

She nodded and her name was written carefully upon the document after she confirmed she had read it. Good that there were no pesky o's to get in his way that time.

Aras was the second to sign the document, scanning it over far too slowly. Smart as he was, the wolverine was still clearly less literate than Antonio. Sybil signed it almost immediately with an untidy x, causing Antonio to question if she had in fact bothered to read it at all. At least she was not as much of an irritation as Rea, who asked him to read over a score and a half specific sentences before she agreed to mark the document, signing a curious symbol at the bottom of the page. Rea's diamond embedded within a circle and Sybil's blotchy x clashed with the otherwise neat signatures at the tail end of the document– neat for the most part; Aras's signature was far from polished. After Thalliv signed, Antonio rolled up the paper, placed it in his backpack and addressed his group once more.

"Now, I understand that our goal lies within this jungle, roughly half-way in if Miss Rea's astute observation is correct. Mister Thalliv, if you would be so kind as to lead us."

"Actually…" the servant hesitated. _Out with it already!_ "Although I am quite learned in the layout of the city, the geography of the jungle escapes me."

"Ah. Quite alright, Mister Thalliv." _Stupid, worthless, cowardly fool!_

"Sir Antonio, I may be able to lead us to the landmark which we seek," said Silisk. "I used to dwell within this jungle, reigning over part of it until I was most unceremoniously captured." At this she punctuated her sentence with an irate hiss. "But, after pondering on the cryptic writing in yon warehouse, I have discovered that I may in fact have once seen the place of which the riddle speaks."

Antonio nodded. "Very well. Silisk shall acompony me near the head of the line and instruct me as to which direction we should travel. Thalliv, you shall take up position in the center once again so that you may easily defend should attack come from any side." _It will also make it more difficult for you to escape._ "The rest of you, stay behind but keep close. The jungle's perils may be many and we do not yet know if our…friend from the warehouse is still on our trail."

The jungle's layout was horrid. Trees were strewn hither and thither with no more order than the disorganized remnants of the city. Paths more made by happenstance than trampled into the earth by past explorers would occasionally end abruptly thanks to random overgrowth or green webs of vines littering the way. The rest of the jungle was little better. Humidity, combined with heat and a sense of confinement made for a very irate Antonio.

Silisk's directions had led them to the side of a cliff. As if trudging through these Fates forsaken woods wasn't enough, now they had to walk on uneven ground, nearly falling over each time they took a step.

"Sssh! Does anybeast hear that?"

The entire group wheeled around at Sybil's cry. Antonio listened, sure that it was that sack of excrement from the warehouse.

The sound which greeted his ears, however, was not the soft, quiet noise of sombeast attempting to sneak up on them. Nor did it emanate from behind. It came from their left. Antonio could feel the ground beneath his feet shudder as he turned to look, spying something knocking trees and rocks and foliage down the cliff. Behind the green-gray blur was a solid wall of brown, viscous mud.

Two thoughts hit Antonio as he tried in vain to run downhill away from the mass of earth. The first: that gunk was going to hit him, permanently ruin his clothes and be near impossible to get out of his fur. The second: _What sort of pitiful pun would Dirano say in a situation like this?_ The answer hit him just as the brown wave crashed over him.

_Quite the messy business_


	33. Downwards Bound

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 31. Downwards Bound**

_by Rekkua_

"Almost through." Zula spoke as quietly as she could, voice hardly carrying at all. The knife in her bound paws sawed up and down, slowly but surely cutting through the ropes that bound Brull. She was proving to be very helpful.

From her spot huddled next to the others, Rekkua watched the hare standing outside, outlined by the lightening sky. It had been a long night, with only snatches of sleep here and there. The hare stirred, and Rekkua hissed a low warning. All movement stopped for a long minute, and then Zula slowly began again.

"Got it, Mr. Sheriff, sir."

Brull slowly pulled the useless ropes off himself and took the knife from Zula. A moment later, everybeast was rubbing limbs to get blood flowing. "Like we planned," he whispered. The group rose and quietly moved towards the open door.

Blood sluggish in her veins, Rekkua stumbled into the sleeping Greenclaw. The ferret yelped, and that was it. Sleeping bundles leapt up, transforming into dangerous hares.

"Run!" Displaying a surprising amount of ferocity, Pearl knocked aside the startled hare outside. "Over the side!" Over the railing they leapt. Rekkua's heart struggled to break free of her chest as she fell, landing an instant later on the roof below.

Zula recovered first and took off running – in the wrong direction.

"Other way!" Brull bellowed, sprinting across the rooftop. Zula pulled an about face and ran after. Rekkua helped Pearl to her feet, and the two set off, shouts and cries at their heels.

It didn't take long to find a dilapidated section of the roof that led into the mansion. Dropping through landed them at the top of a staircase winding downwards in tight curls. A moment's pause, and again they set off, skipping steps on the way.

Shouts and pounding feet filled the stairs above them, echoing along the bare walls. The hares were coming, and right quick, too.

"Hurry!" Choosing the first turnout he could find, Brull bolted down the hall. Zula stumbled and tripped, slamming into the ground. Without thinking, Rekkua scooped up the fox as she whisked by. They found themselves in a hallway, ruinous walls covered with ripped and broken works of art. Rekkua's eyes darted back and forth, to and fro, trying to figure out a means of escape. She couldn't fight in here, the path was too narrow.

The furry mass in her arms began struggling, squirming to get down. "'M okay, Rekkua! You can put me down!"

A slingstone whizzed past Rekkua's head. "No time. Juzt wait."

"In here! In here!" Brull darted – something surprising for a beast of his size – through a door that was undamaged. Pearl followed. Rekkua put on a burst of speed and dove into the room. Brull slammed the door shut, and he and Pearl leaned against it. An instant later, something heavy slammed into the door. It shuddered, but held.

"Quick, get something to barricade the door!"

Rekkua set Zula down and looked around the room. It was a study of some kind, built-in shelves lining the walls. "Wit' what?"

_Thud_.

"Anything!"

"How 'bout this?" Zula swung her footpaws back and forth, smiling from her position on the edge of a large, oaken desk.

_Thud_.

"Off!" Rekkua vaulted over the desk. Planting her feet, she leaned against the desk and pushed as hard as she could. A horrible grinding sound rose up as the massive, wooden bulk started to move, inch by slow inch. Rekkua's muscles rippled and rolled beneath her scales as she labored forwards, deep gouges appearing in the floor. Teeth gritting and grinding, she roared and gave one, final push. Brull and Pearl leapt clear as the desk banged against the door, settling into place with a satisfying thunk. Panting ragged breaths, the four waited.

"We know you're in there!" It was that hare – Regaworth. Probably her paw that was pounding on the door, too. "Come out now, an' we won't hurt you."

"Go boil yor head, longears!" Brull glared at the rest of the group, speaking in a breathy whisper. "Bloody rabbits."

"Have it your way, then." The battering stopped and a tense silence fell.

After a lengthy pause, Pearl whispered hopefully, "Maybe they've gone."

Rekkua shook her head. "No, it'z good tactic, pretend you're gone, then wait outside. T'at iz what t'ey doing."

"It don't much matter what they're doing." Brull sighed and leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded. "They're out there, an' we're in here. All they have to do is keep us in, an' we're as good as tied up."

"We can go out the window!" Zula pointed, a pleased grin plastered on her maw. "I've done it afore!"

Rekkua jerked her head to look, taking in the glass window, smudged and dirty, nearly opaque with filth. A slow smile crept across her features. She was beginning to have a great deal of respect for this little fox. "Yez, perfect!"

Pearl shook her head. "Won't work. We're on one of the top floors of the governor's mansion."

"And just how many floors does this place have, anyways?" Sheriff Brull asked. He didn't sound all that interested.

"Twenty."

Some creatures had no faith in themselves. "T'at iz no problem." Rekkua marched to the window, cleaned away a circle with her paw, and peered out. Down, down sat the ground, just beginning to glisten in the morning light. Much too far to jump, yes, but those jutting roofs dotting the descent looked plenty big. She whirled to face the others. "We can zimply climb down."

Brull snorted. "Rekkua, that'd be near impossible for a squirrel." He emphasized that last word, making it clear it would be doubly impossible for anybeast else.

"I iz no zquirrel. I iz Varan!"

"Yes, but we're not." Pearl shrugged and moseyed to a bookcase, eyeing the dusty tomes. "Since we're here, we might as well see if we can find anything useful – some clue to where a large group of beasts could hide in the city without being discovered. Who knows? We might even find a way out."

"Like a secret passage?" Zula asked, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Places like this always have a secret passage!"

Pearl rolled her eyes. "Yes, maybe we'll even find a secret passage."

Very quickly, Pearl, Brull, and Zula began combing through the books, pulling them off the shelves as they went. Feeling useless as a pebble in a pond, Rekkua prowled around the edges of the room, tongue flicking in irritation. It tasted _awful_ in here – all oiled wood and parchment and must. So unnatural. It made her uneasy. Finally unable to stand it, she stopped at the window and wrenched it open, bits of dirt and wood trickling down. A cool breeze flowed through the opening. Sticking her head outside, she breathed deeply. The rising sun sent its warming rays scudding across the sky, pink fingers that hugged the city in its embrace. Rekkua basked in the growing warmth, heaven after the long night. It was going to be a nice day.

She eyed the mansion below her. It would be such a simple matter to climb down and away. Go back to the tribe and ask for their help. Just leave these furbeasts to fend for themselves…

Pearl gave an excited shout, and Rekkua looked over her shoulder.

"Lookit this! A history of the colonization of the island! Maybe we can find something in it that'll show us a way out. Here." Pearl slammed the book onto the desk. "Look through this, Sheriff. See if there might be anything useful." She whirled back to the bookcases.

Heaving a sigh of massive proportions, Brull picked up the book and began perusing it. One particular page gave him page, and he reread it several times before lowering the book in disbelief. "I can't believe it." His head wagged side to side, a leaf in the breeze. "They were bribed with spirits."

Pearl looked up from the book she had been thumbing through. "What are you babbling about?"

"There were lizards – Varan – livin' here before the city was built. Right feisty buggers, it says."

Rekkua stepped away from the window and the sun, blood already cooling. She knew this story. She knew it very well. "Clan Gezara. T'ey live here long ago. Good warriorz. Friendz of Clan Jahk. Zattaka come and kill t'em all. Build city."

"Yeah, well according to this, your friends sold their land."

"What? Varan never sell land! T'at iz ztupid!" Snarling, Rekkua stormed up to the rat, towering over him.

Brull held up the book defensively. "Look for yourself! Here's the contract they signed!"

Rekkua plucked the book from Sheriff Brull. The words were little more than scratches, but she did recognize the symbol at the bottom of the page. It was the mark of Clan Gezara, a starburst very similar to Clan Jahk's. She touched the tattoo on her scaled chest, sadness welling up within. Clan Gezara – what could compel them to sell their land to _Zattaka_?

She handed the book back to Brull, gaze unfocused. "What did t'ey zell it for?"

"Ten kegs of grog."

Rekkua's eyes flared. "Grog? T'ey zold t'eir home for t'at dizguzting drink? Clan Gezara…why would t'ey do t'at?"

"Says here they were very enamored by it. Traded anything they could think of for it. Couldn't get enough of it."

Rekkua slumped to the floor. "But…grog?" She started to imagine an entire clan of Varan sick off the drink, acting the way she had, but hurriedly pushed the image away. It didn't bear thinking about. "Zo what doez t'at book zay happened to t'em?"

"I don't think you want to…"

"Tell me."

Brull hesitated a moment. "They…when they were drunk, the founders of the city – they killed them."

Rekkua moaned and dropped her head to the floorboards. So that part of the story was true. She was just glad her clan didn't know the rest of the story. Imagine, an entire tribe wiped out because of a single drink. At that moment, she renewed her resolve to never again let a drop of grog pass her lips.

The awkward silence was broken by Pearl. "This is what we're looking for." Her voice was subdued, but still carried an undercurrent of excitement. Rekkua looked up. The matronly vixen waved a bundle of parchments. "Blueprints." Unrolling them onto the desk, she smoothed them out.

Deciding now was not the time to mourn, Rekkua gathered around the desk with the others.

Zula immediately voiced her disappointment. "It's just a bunch o' lines! How're they s'pposed to help us?"

Rekkua, eyeing the blueprints, frowned and decided the fluffball had a point. How was this useful?

"They represent rooms. This is the blueprint for this floor of the mansion." Pearl pointed a manicured claw to a particular spot. "See? Here's the room where we are now."

Ah! That made a sort of sense! Much easier to understand than lines that were supposed to represent speech. Rekkua leaned closer to the plans. Now curious despite herself, she traced the lines with a claw.

Zula scratched her head and stuck out her tongue. "That don't make no sense, Miss Pearl! It don't look nothin' like this room!"

Before Pearl could form any reply, Rekkua voiced a question. "What do t'eze broken linez mean?" Her claw had stopped where one of the lines disappeared, only to continue on a pebble's distance later.

"The gaps indicate doors."

Of course. Doors were holes; nothing was there. What better way to show that then with nothing? Rekkua continued running her claws along the parchment, only half listening to the conversation. There was something wrong with the drawings…

"So what exactly are we looking for?" Brull pulled a sheet from the bottom of the stack and held it up to the light.

Pearl threw up her paws in exasperation. "Look, I don't know! We're trying to find Nevyeer. He supposedly has a big group of Marties, and they haven't been discovered, so it has to be some place with plenty of room to hide. Like, like…"

"Like an underground city, maybe?"

"Exactly, an underground city."

"With tunnels connecting it to the surface?"

"With tunnels connecting it to the surface." Pearl flopped down into am armchair, had a thought, and looked at Brull. "Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

The rat was still examining the blueprint, tail slowly tapping the wood floor. "I think I may have found just that."

"What?" Pearl exploded from the chair, bounding over to take a look.

Brull flattened the parchment back onto the desk, right on top of the others. Rekkua hissed and flicked her tongue in irritation. "Oh, come off it, Rekkua. This is important."

"Zo iz what I iz looking at! I t'ink I foun–"

"Fine, here." Bent over the desk, Brull pulled out the blueprint of the mansion and held it out to Rekkua.

Scowling, Rekkua snatched it and stalked to the window. It was nicer here, anyways. Gently laying the precious thing on the floor, she tried to reorient herself.

"Whatcha looking fer?" It was Zula, curious as ever.

"I t'ink I find way out."

"What? Really?" Rekkua cringed as Zula's voice squeaked upwards. Her excitement almost palpable, she spun towards Pearl and Brull, paused, and slowly turned back around. "I'm not s'possed t' interrupt," she whispered, indicating the two deep in conversation.

Rekkua smiled, teeth glistening. "Iz okay. I zhow you." She brought a claw down in the middle of a square. "T'iz iz room Pearl zay we iz in, yez?"

Zula nodded. "I still don't think they looks the same."

"You iz right. How many doors does t'iz room have?"

The young fox glanced around the room, apparently giving it a lot of thought. Finally, "I just see the one behind the desk."

"Yez. On here, t'ough," she jabbed the paper for emphasis. "It zay t'ere iz two doorz. What do you t'ink?"

Rekkua could actually see Zula slowly puzzle it out. Her face wrinkled in concentration, brows lowering until Rekkua could hardly see her eyes. Several seconds later, they bulged wide open. "A secret passage!"

Hissing laughter slithered from Rekkua, and she placed an approving paw on Zula's head. "Exactly." She looked over at Brull and Pearl, still muttering at each other. "What do you t'ink? zhould we interrupt t'em?"

A little unsure of herself, Zula nodded. Rekkua grabbed the blueprint, rose to her feet, and the pair stepped the short distance to the other two. "We found t'e way out."

"…seems there's an entrance here, and over here." Pearl placed a claw at two separate points.

Rekkua tried again. "We iz getting out of here now."

"If you ask me, this here seems the likeliest place t' have a hideout." Brull circled a section.

"Right."

Not used to being ignored, Rekkua growled and slammed her fist into the desk.

"By the fur!" Brull started and stared at Rekkua. "What was that for?"

"We found a zecret pazzage out of here!" Were all furballs this dense?

"What? Where?"

Rekkua spread out the blueprint and stabbed a claw at the spot. "Right here. Zee? It zayz t'ere iz two doors in t'is room. One here." She motioned to the blockaded door. "And one t'ere." She indicated the wall to the right, its shelves emptied of books.

Brull peered closely at the plans. "She's right. There's two doors on the blueprints."

Pearl stared at the shelves. "What if it's just an error?"

"Only one way to find out." Rekkua snatched a broken piece of wood, hefting it between her paws. She took one, good swing, and in the shelf splintered, a sizeable hole appearing. She grinned. "It iz zecret pazzage."

Brull chuckled. "Well, that's one way to do it. Now let's see if we can find the switch." He felt along the shelves, paws searching. "Ah, think I found it." Something clinked, clicked, and the bookcase swung open on well-greased hinges. He whistled. "There's some fine worksmanship for you."

"Zhall we go?" Feeling immensely pleased with herself, Rekkua strode into the dark passageway, Zula bobbing after. A smile hovered on Pearl's lips as she followed. After rolling up the blueprints of the tunnels and tucking it into a pocket, Brull brought up the rear, closing the bookcase behind them. Downwards they wound, a flight of stairs lost in shadow. The hole in the shelf, a single spot of day, was quickly left behind.

"I don't suppose anyone thought to grab a torch? Pearl asked at one point. No one had, but it wasn't long after that the stairs ended and Rekkua stepped down into something splashy.

"I think we found the tunnels," Brull said.

Gagging, Pearl clapped a pawkerchief to her nose. "Eugh! What a horrid stench!"

Rekkua was inclined to agree, taking care to keep her tongue inside her muzzle. She looked around with suspicion. Any place that tasted like a waste pit and didn't have the sun shining could not be safe. There was light coming from somewhere, but it wasn't enough to see anything but the knee-deep water she was standing in.

Brull shrugged, sighed, and stepped down into the water. If the smell bothered him, he wasn't making a fuss about it. "Yeah, well, what'd you expect? Flowers and perfume? Come on. This is the only way to go."

Closing her eyes, Pearl slowly lowered herself off the last step, wincing as her paws disappeared into the murky water.

Zula didn't move from her spot. "I'm not walkin' in that! Me mam says I have to stay clean." After several minutes of arguing, the group finally continued, Rekkua wondering how she ended up with the fox on her back.

As they trekked, Rekkua kept a paw along one wall, using it for extra balance. Every now and then, a pinprick of light from high above them filtered downwards, lending the tunnels a gloomy twilight. The scent was always worst right below those slender beams, and she did her best not to imagine what she slogged through.

Still breathing as lightly as she could, Pearl skirted a pile of refuse. "If Nevyeer's not down here…"

"Would you rather have stayed cooped up in that study?" Brull asked.

"I think this is fun!" From her position on Rekkua's back, Zula bounced a little.

"Fun? This is hardly the pastime I would…"

"Hsst, quiet!" Rekkua hardly noticed all three of her companions instantly fell silent, concentrating as she was on a pinprick of flame down a side tunnel.

Whiskers tickled the side of her head, and Zula whispered, "What is it, Rekkua?"

"Zomet'ing down t'at tunnel. T'ere'z light."

Everybeast turned to look.

It was Pearl's turn to whisper. "Do you suppose it's the Marties?"

"Maybe. I doubt anybeast in their right mind would be hiding down here." Brull sucked his teeth for a moment. "Only one way to find out." And with that, he struck out towards the light, the others following in his wake. As they drew closer, they saw two haggard creatures sitting on crates, their fur missing in patches.

"Pardon me," Brull began. "We're looking for Nevyeer."


	34. Public Enemy

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 32. Public Enemy**

_by Sheriff Brull_

For a group of wretches that just encountered the only aid they had seen for months, the Marties didn't seem very grateful. And considering their plight was the sole reason Brull was even on this island, he didn't take their cool behaviour very well. "Don't suppose a 'thanks for coming to save us' would be in order," he grumbled quietly, fully intending to be heard.

The only reaction he got was a scoff from a diseased ferret. "Save us? You're a bit late for that. After a hurricane, plague, and getting cast into the sewer, how much help do you think you're gonna be?"

"Oh, lots, I think," Zula said, chipper as always. "Sheriff's Brull's good at helping creatures. Aren't you, Mr. Sheriff, sir?"

Slightly put out that the only vocal support he was receiving was from a half-insane fox, Brull mumbled, "Yeah," and sulked.

All things considered, the filth and smell of Evnakt's underground made Brull almost wish he had gone for the Red Brandy. At least with that, there would have been a chance of fresh air, and some resemblance of sanitation. As the group was led through the long tunnels, the Sheriff couldn't help but notice that the ceiling was held up by little more than rotted wooden beams. The floor didn't fare much better, being made up of what Brull hoped was dirt and mud. "Lovely dump," he muttered, perhaps a little louder than he would have liked. The glare he was receiving from a mangy weasel wasn't exactly comforting.

"Sheriff Brull, please," Pearl whispered, "we don't want to offend anyone."

The rat didn't think telling the truth was offensive. Besides, most of these Marties were probably aware that the underground was less than paradise. Maybe that was the cause of those nervous twitches. Purposely hanging back from the leading elements of the small party, Brull looked for a hushed audience with Rekkua. "What d'you think the odds are of this Nev-whatever being any saner than the rest of them?"

The monitor scowled. "Zlim. Zarkleyet zaid he had contracted Martin'z Madnezz."

Brull made sure the other vermin were out of earshot before he continued. "And we're looking for help from this bloke? Seems like we have our choice of one loon or another."

"No other choice," Rekkua shrugged. "If Nevyeer haz power, it would be wize to be on hiz good side."

"Power over a bunch of lepers."

"Army iz an army. I would rather have my own tribe. But if we want to defeat the Felloh'z Heirz, we will need Nevyeer'z help."

After walking through this veritable cesspool, Nevyeer had better go head over heels trying to help the Sheriff. "Hoy, you two!" a gaunt rat called back, "Keep up the pace. You don't want to get lost down here."

A growl from the monitor told Brull that he wasn't the only one who hated being ordered around, even if it was for his own good. He didn't particularly like the Marties so far; if someone came into your home with the intention of saving your city, you should treat the saviour with respect. "We're coming, don't worry your pretty little heads."

Pearl didn't look pleased with this flippancy. "Don't mind him," she offered pleadingly to some of the irate looking vermin, leering ominously towards the rat. "He's just having a bad day."

"We're not down here by choice, you know," a weasel sneered.

"Neither am I, oddly enough," Brull answered before Pearl could stop him. He was cut off when the paw of a vexed vixen grabbed him by the arm.

"Sheriff Brull," Pearl asked pleasantly, "may I speak to you?" Any kindness in her voice was offset by the sharp digging of her claws in Brull's arm, causing the rat to wince. "What are you doing?" she hissed quietly. "We want any help we can get, remember? The island won't save itself."

Gritting his teeth, the Sheriff reminded himself that he liked Pearl, and refrained from speaking freely. "For a bunch of beasts looking like death, they're acting mighty haughty."

"Yes, well, we're going to have to grin and bear. And another thing, mind your manners when we find Nevyeer. We need him on our side."

"Don't see why. If we can't trust Sarkleyet, I doubt we can trust his good buddy."

"Sarkleyet only cares about himself. I don't know, but I hope that Nevyeer will be more interested in saving the town. At least, he seems to be doing something to help those poor dears with the sickness."

"Or he might be even worse."

"Well, we won't know until we ask."

"Ms. Pearl, will you please get your claws out of my arm?"

"Oh!" The vixen gasped sharply, unaware that she had drawn blood from the rat. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean..."

"It's all right," Brull grumbled, not feeling all right in the least. "It'll grow back." Had anyone else talked to the Sheriff in such a manner, he would have put their lights out. "Can't imagine how many little diseases are running into the cuts, though."

"Diseases don't run, Mister Brull," Zula added, nodding her head confidently. She alone seemed easy going inside this eerie predicament. "They sit on dirty paws, waitin' to jump at unexpecting foxes. That's what me mam said. She'd say, 'Zula Higgins, wash those paws after touching the bed sheets! Do you know how many beasts have been on...'"

"Yes, dear, very nice." Pearl cut the younger fox off. Ignoring the uncomfortable coughing from Brull, the vixen shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just saying, I don't like this place more than anyone else, but we can't go back the way we came, and I'm not keen on staying here. We'll just have to go forward."

The procession continued on in silence, almost funeral-like, except that the dead and living were walking together without discrimination.

"We're here."

After witnessing the grand mansion of Sarkleyet, Brull was less than impressed with the broken down shack (more like a shed) that looked like it had simply fallen from above ground and been forgotten about. An alcove had been dug in the side of the tunnel for the dwelling, giving the impression of a roadside inn. "Magnifizent," Rekkua mumbled, obviously not enthralled.

"That's a nice wood shed," Zula approved. "So where's the rest of the house?"

"Nevyeer's in there," a rat indicated with a flick of his head. "I should warn yeh, he's a bit of a nut, even for one of us. Just watch yourself, s'all."

Realizing even his office was bigger than Nevyeer's, the Sheriff waved off the other rat. "Fine. You scurry along, we'll only be a minute."

The mangy rodent did not move. "We only take orders from Nevyeer."

It was timely intervention from Pearl that stopped Brull from decimating his smaller counterpart. "Yes, of course. Thank you for your time." The rat glared at Brull, and knocked on the door.

"Who's there? What do you want? I'm busy! Go away!" A shrill, panicky voice sounded from within the shed, cutting through the otherwise silent underground.

"There's some beasts here to see you, Nevyeer," the rat replied calmly, apparently not taken aback by the hysterics of the voice.

A moment of silence prevailed, until the voice, still tinged with fear, inquired, "Do they have weapons?"

The rat opened his mouth, paused as he glanced over at Rekkua, and decided that the monitor didn't count. "No."

Slowly, warily, the door creaked open just a crack, allowing the eye of a gaunt ferret to peer through. Vanishing behind the wall, his voice still crept through the rotting wood. "Who is it, who is it?" he mumbled, unaware that he could be heard. "Two vixens, concubines..."

Zula blinked. "Now, how d'you s'pose he knew that?"

"Because I know everything!" the voice snapped. "It's my business to know! Not knowing leads to not breathing!" With alarming speed, his mood returned to musing. "Never seen the rat before. Looks uncouth."

"Oh, he's asking for one heck of a..."

"Mr. Brull, please!"

"And a monitor! Disgusting! It will ruin the carpet! It will make a mess!" Rekkua's tongue flicked out, but a warning glare from Pearl inclined her to say nothing. "Still, it hasn't the brains to do anything." Another period of silence before the ferret reappeared at the door. "Show them in, Beverly," he proclaimed regally, standing upright, staring down his nose at his guests. "And then see to the garden, it's starting to wilt." Inexpicably, the ferret slammed the door before any one else could enter.

"I knew a fox named Beverly once," Zula grinned to the rat.

The rodent shook his head. "It's Blacknose, actually. He hasn't got my name right once since I came down here."

The young vixen frowned sympathetically. "That's okay, me mam used to get my name wrong too. Sometimes thought I was called 'Muffin-head.'"

Seemingly warmed by this small chat, the rat turned his attention to Pearl. "Right, you lot can go in. Keep in mind he means less than half of what he says. But we only take orders from him. So make sure you don't rile him, or you'll get nothing at all from any of us." And with that, the rat shuffled back down the tunnel.

Once he was gone, Pearl whispered earnestly to the other three. "Alright, you heard him. If we want any one to help us, we'll need Navyeer's approval. Brull, Rekkua, I know you don't like being talked down to, but unless you fancy going up against the Felldoh's Heirs by yourselves, I'd appreciate if you held your tongues, at least for the moment."

"Won't say a word."

"My lipz are zealed."

"An' I won't say nothing too!"

Giving them one last forbidding stare, Pearl led the way into the shed. The place was as unkempt and disorderly inside as it looked from the outside. Books were every where, either stacked in massive piles or tossed aside without care. Remains of various foods and papers were littered everywhere, with no attention to sanitation. What little furniture there was consisted of a few old chairs, a handful of potted plants, and a crate that seemed to be serving as a desk. Behind the latter sat Nevyeer, who looked up at the newcomers with shock. "Who are you? Where did you come from?!"

Remembering the rat's warning, Pearl contained her surprise and gave a smart bow to the ferret. "Hello. I'm Pearl, and these are my friends, Zula Higgins, Sheriff Brull, and Rekkua. We've come because we need your help."

Once again changing from panic to civility, Nevyeer nodded. "Of course, of course. Ms. Pearl is well known for her... establishment." He didn't sound overly pleased with the concept of the vixen's selling of companionship. "I trust the young Higgin's mother ran the same kind of business."

Pearl seemed slightly vexed at the distasteful tone the ferret was using. "It wasn't as shady as you seem to be implying."

"I hate it!" Nevyeer shrieked suddenly, yet retained his composure the next second. "The monitor has to stay by the door."

Rekkua took a step towards the desk, but was stayed by a paw on her shoulder. "Steady on," Brull mumbled. For his part, he was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from the ferret. For better or for worse, Nevyeer ignored the Sheriff altogether. Brull wasn't sure if he was pleased or annoyed.

"I'm a very busy beast, so state your business."

Pulling up a chair to the desk, Pearl placed her hands on her lap and looked Nevyeer in the eye. "I'll be brief. You see..."

"I don't see," the ferret contradicted, apparently pleased with this small jest.

"Can I hit him yet?" It had been less than a minute, and Brull was already tired of this self glorified trash-monger.

"Sheriff Brull, you're not helping!" Pearl cried, though the rat expected her frustration was misplaced. Turning her attention back to the ferret, who was cringing deeper into his chair after the threat, the vixen put on a plainly forced smile. "We're planning an uprising to take back the city, and we need your help."

"Everyone needs my help. Day in, day out, they knock on my door, they beg me for favours, they ask me to heal them. And I can, you know," he whispered, winking at the vixen. "I figured it out! I can slow it! No one knows how but me. That's why they listen to me. Because only I can save them." Retreating again into his chair, the ferret resumed his mumbling. "Why should I help you?"

"It won't be much trouble, really. All we need is for you to ask the Mart... that is, those who answer to you, to assist us."

Nevyeer looked aghast. "But... but they're mine!" he whined. "They answer to me! I don't want to give them up. You can't have them!"

Pearl sighed in exasperation. This was plainly going no where fast. "We don't want to own them, we just want their aid."

"I see," the ferret sighed. "You just want to use me. Everyone does. Nobody loves me."

"Can I hit him yet?"

"Not yet," Pearl growled, though with less conviction than before. "Mr. Nevyeer, please, focus! I need you to tell the diseased beasts to lend us their assistance to defeat the woodlanders. But they won't help unless you tell them. We're planning on retaking Evnakt, and only you can aide us. Surely you don't enjoy living down here?"

In yet another one of his many mood swings, Nevyeer glared at Pearl. "Enjoy it? Certainly not! Do you think anyone enjoys living in a gutter? Especially me? I used to have a lab, a big one! In a mansion! And it was magnificient! Until that traitor kicked me out." His voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "And after all I did for him, too. Shouldn't trust pine martens, their ears are too big to be trusted."

"Oh, you mean Mister Sarky?" asked Zula, who had taken to sitting on one of the many book piles. "He's trusty. Let us stay at his place, he did."

The young fox had to duck to avoid the tome that was thrown at her head. "Sarkleyet sent you!?" Nevyeer shrieked, half furious, half terrified. "How does he know I'm here?! You want to kill me!"

Shocked at this outburst, Pearl raised her paws in a placating manner. "Mr. Nevyeer, no one here wants to kill you! Please, settle down!"

The ferret could not be calmed. "No one wants to kill me, eh? Everyone wants to kill me! That's why I'm here. Down here. And not up there! That marten wants me dead! Don't you know who he is? Do you know what he's done?"

"Iz thiz about the Red Brandy?" Rekkua queried, eying the ex-scholar with distaste.

The monitor's question failed to help matters. "What do you know about the Red Brandy?! He's looking for it, isn't he? He's promised it to you if you kill me! Well, I'm on to his game!"

"Nevyeer, please," Pearl pleaded, "we are not here to kill you."

Scoffing as he sat down, Nevyeer put on a cynical, yet brave, face. "Hah! Tell Sarkleyet that if he wants me, he can come and get me himself, and to not his latest conquest in bed! And his standards must have dropped pretty badly!"

"Why you..." Pearl sputtered, and for a moment Brull thought she was actually going to strike the ferret, who was cringing in his chair. The vixen managed to stop herself in time, with the help of several deep breaths. Coughing into her paw, she gave a dignified bow. "Beg pardon." Turning from Nevyeer, Pearl smiled quite pleasantly at the Sheriff. "Sheriff Brull, would you mind taking over?"

There was no stopping the grin of anticipation from crossing the rat's face. "Thought you'd never ask." Rolling up his sleeves, Brull nodded toward Rekkua. "Watch the door," he asked. The monitor clearly didn't like being ordered around, but slid in front of the door regardless.

Nevyeer glared up from his chair at the looming rat. "I told you, I'm not helping Sarkleyet's goons! Get out of my house!"

A noticeably large lump appeared in the ferret's throat as Brull not only didn't leave, but pulled up a chair of his own, directly in front of his host. Gates, it was always a treat to see trumped-up society types realize they were powerless to enforce their will without beasts like the Sheriff to back them up. "That's nice," Brull leered. "If I see any, I'll let them know you're not helping them."

Shifting uncomfortably, Nevyeer managed to sputter, "You were with him! You're here to kill me!"

"Much as I'd like to disagree, I'd be lying. I'm only here because I want off of this island, and to do that, I reckon I need you alive."

"Don't talk to me like that!"

"Oh, I'm going to be doing a damn sight more than just talking in a moment or two."

In a shift of character that emphasized the ferret's madness, Nevyeer suddenly became imperious. "Phaw! Why would I, one of the smartest minds in vermin history, be inclined to help you? Geoffrey," he asked a nonexistent aide, "see these beasts out."

Had Geoffrey even been there, he couldn't have stopped Brull from kicking Nevyeer's chair over. The ferret gasped for air, almost in a state of shock, as the rat stood over the scrabbling scholar. "That's enough of that." Grabbing Nevyeer by the scruff of the neck, Brull hauled him upright and pushed the ferret into the wall. "We're gonna play a new game now, called 'Shut up and Listen.' You get to go first."

For once, it looked like Nevyeer had nothing to say, and nodded sullenly.

"Lovely. Now, as my good friend Ms. Pearl was saying, we're taking back this desolation you call a city, and you're going to bend over backwards to give us whatever we need."

"I don't..."

The ferret's protest what cut off by a hard back-hand slap from the Sheriff, sending Nevyeer back onto the floor. The action got a grin of amusement from Rekkua. "About time."

Dragging Nevyeer back up, Brull sneered at the scholar. "Guess I forgot to explain the rules. I talk, you listen. You agree, you nod. You disagree, you nod anyway. Got it?"

Nod.

"Good. As I was saying, those half-brained nit-wits outside could be mighty useful to us. But it seems they only take orders from you. So you're gonna tell them to give us a helping paw, right?" No matter how low they sunk, those with power never wanted to give it up, evidenced by Nevyeer biting his lip earnestly. "I don't hear you nodding," said Brull, raising a warning fist in the air.

Nod. "What do you want them to..."

Another hard smack sent a fang flying from the ferret's mouth. Pearl looked away; Zula was half distracted by a fly buzzing around the lamp.

Shaking the nearly unconscious Nevyeer, the Sheriff wagged a discretionary claw. "I'm not done. Ms. Pearl's gonna ask you a few things, and you're gonna answer her nicely. Or I'll start feeding you, claw-by-claw, to my friend Rekkua." An anticipatory smile from the monitor, showing her fangs nicely, was more than enough incentive to make Nevyeer's head bob like a fishing lure. "Lovely." Shoving the ferret back into his chair, the rat winked at Pearl. "All yours."

Sitting down, the vixen glared at the ferret, placing her paws on the desktop. "We need to find the Felldoh's Heirs' head quarters. Do you know where it is."

"Yes."

"Can you get us there?"

"Yes."

"And will you tell your beasts to assist us?"

"Yes."

"Good." Rising, Pearl gave a pleasant nod to her compatriots. "There, see? Always mind your manners."

end of week two.


	35. Fear Her

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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start of week three.

**Chapter 33. Fear Her**

_by Rea_

"Stop squirming," Rea commanded, disregarding the indignant sniff Antonio gave her before masking his displeasure and sitting still. He might be the alpha, but Rea was his dreamsayer and when it came to the physical health of the pack, she had the authority. Surely he knew – _Stop it. You're doing it again!_ she snarled inwardly at herself as she finished applying a poultice and bandage to a nasty cut on the stoat's leg. _This is not your pack. They aren't wolves and they don't understand properly._

While she had spent very little time south of the Circle, the young wolf had come to appreciate how ignorant creatures could be. They knew nothing of Siren or customs so entrenched as to be instinct - leaving Dirano behind, for instance. Any proper alpha would have mounted a search and recovered their pack mate come Nightmares or Dreamscapes. And his last words…

Rea had no particular love for the lecherous cat, but she still had to force herself to blink to keep her eyes from watering. She shouldn't care so much about a creature she barely knew or liked. Tack and Jibe were the same. Why should she care? She had other responsibilities and her own problems enough without-

"Are you quite finished, Ms. Rea?" Antonio's curt question roused the dreamsayer from her brooding. The corner of his mouth twitched as he stared down at the jagged rip in his breaches that Rea had enlarged to care for his wound. Or he might have been staring at the muck covering both of them. He'd nearly lunged for her water skin when she'd started using it to clean only the one spot on his leg. She'd held it out of his reach and barked at him to sit down. He could suffer a few days of dirt in his fur if it meant Rea had water enough to drink.

"Yes. And don't play with that bandage," she added when she saw his paws snaking toward the not-quite-neat binding. And talking of snakes… "Are you hurt, Silisk?" the wolf enquired with all the cheeriness she could muster. Eloi would have sniggered at the painfully fake smile she directed at the grandiose serpent.

"My scales protected me from the worst of the foul brew," the snake replied with the unfathomable expression of a monster.

_Not a monster. Just a snake._ It had become Rea's mantra as of late while trying to force herself to like, or at least tolerate the creature who reminded her of Nightmares.

"However, a rock dared to strike my tail before I could find safety on that tree branch. You have permission to heal me."

_Permission?_ The dreamsayer raised an eyebrow, but set to work, poking and prodding the small beast professionally to find the right spot, then made a compact and bound it to the snake's side. She finished and stood to tend to the others, feeling her shoulders relax with each pace she put between herself and the perfectly civil Evnaran native.

"It was an accident," Aras huffed as Rea approached the rocks where he and Sybil sat bristling at one another.

"Accident my tail," the marten snarled, cradling her arm and baring her teeth. "You jist wanted me even more helpless so that nutjob goes fer me next!"

"Um…" the dreamsayer tried.

"Oh, so I was supposed to just let you crash into that tree?" The wolverine's claws came up, but just as quickly, the fight went out of him and he let his paws drop to the side. "Fine. If you want to be an ungrateful…creature, be that way." He stalked off and Rea approached Sybil who shot Aras' back a hate-filled sneer. The marten jumped when she turned to see the wolf standing nearby.

"What d'you want?" the thief asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Making the rounds," Rea held up the medical pack she had specially requested from Thalliv before leaving Sarkleyet's mansion. "You're next."

"You ain't touchin' me!" The marten growled with such ferocity, the wolf recoiled.

"I'm only trying to help," the dreamsayer rejoined, then stepped forward resolutely and placed a paw on Sybil's good shoulder. "You just sit there and let me do my work."

"Git yer paws off," a sudden desperation had entered the marten's voice and she struggled so violently, Rea worried she might hurt herself more.

"Will you stop that?" Rea cried angrily, trying to arrest Sybil's movements. "Siren! You're worse than Aunt Adel's pups!"

If anything, the thief began to thrash more wildly. Well, if Sybil wanted to believe that she was the big bad wolf, then why not let her?

"You know," Rea put on her best Astrid's-Coming-to-Get-You! voice as she dug her claws into the marten's arm and bared her teeth in a leer, "these aren't just for show."

Sybil's eyes grew to saucers. "Somebeast help me!" she screamed, but Rea cut off further cries for help as she clamped a paw over the wriggling marten's maw.

"Sorry," the dreamsayer called over her shoulder with a winning smile that failed to assuage the concern on the faces of her companions. "She's being a pup about this shoulder."

She turned back to Sybil and continued quietly. "Look here, if you can't sit still and be quiet, I'm going to knock you out and set your shoulder anyway. Your choice. Conscious or unconscious doesn't matter much to me with annoying patients."

The marten's glowering did nothing to alleviate the stress the wolf already felt at having to actually threaten a creature to make her compliant. Still, it was an empty threat, even if Sybil didn't know it.

After a moment's more consideration, Sybil stopped trying to escape and nodded. Rea released her muzzle, then drew her paw back quickly. "And no biting…because my teeth are bigger."

"Try anything an' I'll make sure I choke you on the way down," the marten warned.

Rea rolled her eyes, glad at least one argument was settled. "You know it _was_ an accident. Aras, I mean," the wolf found herself saying as she examined the marten's dislocated shoulder. The wolverine really needed to watch his strength with such…fragile creatures. She'd been lucky herself not to suffer any adverse effects when he'd grabbed her tail and yanked her to safety before the mudslide could spear her on a tree or crack her skull on a rock. When Sybil remained mute, Rea continued. She needed to ask the question that had been burning in her mind for more than a day now. "I know that rat betrayed you. I saw it. Is that why you can't trust anybeast, not even ones trying to help you?"

An all-too-familiar scowl lit the thief's face. "Jist get your nose outta my business and back t'your job."

"I understand," Rea began, then shook her head, annoyance evident in her voice as she continued. "Well, no. I don't. Look, I've never done anything to cross you, really. What's your problem with me? Spit it out! Oh, and this is going to hurt," she added, grabbing the marten's wrist and pulling her arm out. "A lot."

"Aargh!" Sybil growled as the wolf shoved forward mercilessly on her shoulder, resetting it. "That was-was nothin'," she panted. "An' my problem with you? My problem is you're jist crazy an' outta your mind. You jist keep talkin' an' talkin' an' talkin' t'me."

"Ever stop to think it's because I'm interested in you?" Rea snorted, then groaned inwardly at the look on the marten's face. "And not to eat! Siren! I've seen it in your eyes since they threw me in that cell. I've never eaten anybeast in my life!"

"Yeah?" the marten sounded absolutely petulant. "Well, if you're gonna start, it would be me first."

The wolf raised an eyebrow. "No, actually. I find the thought of licking you, let alone eating you repugnant. All that fur…" she stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her snout to emphasize the point. "Ugh! You have a really disgusting mind!"

"Then what _do_ you wolves eat? _Tree bark_?" The tone suggested a challenge, but Rea answered anyway.

"Tsk! I'm not a caribou, moron. We eat fish and gulls when we can catch them. There are berries and plants in the summer that we stock up on. My mama makes the best moss and tuber soup! Hah! Granny thinks hers is better, but she just doesn't get the herbs like Mama and..." she stopped rambling as she re-wrapped the thief's bandages. "I...sorry. I miss my family. Hah! Never thought I'd say that. You have any? Family, I mean?" She finished and looked up at the marten who glared down at her coldly.

"No." Sybil stood abruptly and began walking toward Antonio, Silisk and Thalliv. Like Aras, the servant had remained relatively unscathed didn't require a dreamsayer's attention.

"I'm sorry for you, then," Rea called to the marten's retreating form.

"Don't want your sympathy," she sneered without looking back.

"There's a difference between pity and sympathy," the wolf retorted. "You're not nice enough to sympathize with."

"Ms. Rea, Mr. Aras," Antonio called. He'd managed to get his clothing into the most acceptable state one could expect in such conditions. "If you are quite ready, we should move out, just in case this hillside is still unstable."

A low, persistent buzzing filled the wolf's ears. None of the others seemed bothered, though, so she tried to ignore it. No sense in complaining aloud when that would only give everybeast something else to carry on about. They'd suffered an hour-long lament about mud and its particularly annoying ways from Antonio since striking out from the base of the mudslide. He'd gone on to mention how much of a _shame_ it was that _some_beast didn't have a sewing kit, extra water, and a change of clothes close to paw. Even with his back turned to her, Rea could feel the aggravation directed partially at her.

Then Thalliv had rambled about how the Mayor had wanted to completely wipe out the forest to make room for expansion and wouldn't-that-make-this-ever-so-much-easier-if-there-were-proper-roads? before Aras told him to shut up. Now they trudged with only the buzzing as comfort.

Busy watching her own footpaws to make sure she didn't trip on a wayward vine or root, the wolf glanced up momentarily and gasped.

"Antonio, stop!" she cried.

"What?" The stoat whirled, drawing his hatchet and tensing even as the others prepared for battle.

"Siren! What are you doing?" Rea demanded. "You were about to walk straight through!" She pointed past the mustelid who led the way with Silisk directing from his shoulders. There, not five paces on was a swarm of buzzing insects the like of which belonged in the Forest of Nightmares itself.

Antonio turned to look in the direction she indicated, looked back to gauge the line of her paw once more, and stared off blankly into the swarm. "Is there something wrong this way?" he wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you blind and deaf?" the dreamsayer scoffed incredulously.

"I assure you my senses are all quite intact, Ms. Rea," the accountant replied crisply. "What is it that worries you so?"

"Those creatures that I'm pointing at right there!" Rea marched to the front of the line next to Antonio and motioned. "They're…they're these small, hard things."

"Small an' hard? Now you're talkin' about Sarkleyet." Sybil chuckled at her own crude joke.

"And how would you know about something like that unless you've seen it properly yourself?" Thalliv smirked suggestively. The marteness scowled at him.

Aras scratched at his muzzle pensively. "Small and hard? I don't remember anything like that when I went to visit him."

_For the love of snow!_ "No!" Rea placed a paw on her forehead, fighting the urge to just let the howling morons walk on and get what was coming to them. "The things are buzzing and they look like-like they have some sort of thorn attached."

Another prolonged stare at the swarm. "Ms. Rea…" Antonio began in a patronizing tone. "I think, perhaps, the heat is getting to you." He moved to pat her upper arm, but the moment the mustelid's paw made contact, Rea's demeanor shifted. Her features narrowed, becoming cold and calculated as she glared down at the smaller beast.

_They ran as terror dogged their pawsteps. Already weary from the stress of the day before, she could not fathom how so much could go so wrong so quickly. The snake around her neck directed her frantically as best she could and... There, ahead! That noise, that infernal buzzing that warned a sane beast off. That was it! But would she have the time to set her plan in motion? Yes. Of course, so long as they listened to her promptly, as they should. A leader had to inspire her followers to listen._

"Harken to me, Antonio Calceterre," the dreamsayer growled, reaching out and grabbing the stoat's shoulder in a painfully tight grip and pulling him toward her so their muzzles almost touched. Instinctively, the stoat brought the hatchet in his paw up, but Rea caught his wrist easily with her longer reach and held him still without the slightest sign of exertion. She showed none of her previous trepidation and the pitch of her voice dropped subtly.

"Thou art clever, but thy brains be'st poison oft as remedy. Such is the fate of a fallen prince. Thou wouldst be most clever now to heed my counsel, for in time thou wilt find the creatures of which I speak are friend to thee and foe to the one whose blood runs to powder in his veins. Remember whence they came, Antonio Calceterre."

A beat, then Rea continued, features softening once more. "It's not the heat, Antonio," she sneered. "It's - why am I holding you? And why are you so close? And why are you aiming your weapon at me?" She let go, stepping back quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to… But I'm telling you they're – Wait! Where have they gone?"

It took a moment for her confused mind to register that the insect swarm had vanished, and another to realize that the entire group was staring at her as if a pine tree had suddenly sprouted from her head. "They were there, I swear. I don't know where they've…got…to…" It felt rather like when she'd had her outburst with Brull and Sybil, only much worse because six beasts certainly constituted a full-blown audience.

_Oh, Siren... That was a dream. A howling dream and I couldn't even tell!_ the wolf raged silently at herself. But why buzzy things? What in Siren's name had they to do with anything? _I wasn't even touching anybeast when I heard them,_ Rea realized with a start, the first feelings of fear beginning to settle into her stomach. She'd always had to have contact with a creature for the dreams to come.

"Pardon me, milady, but are you…feeling well?" Silisk hissed cautiously.

"Yes," the wolf replied automatically. "No," she amended. "I mean, I'm sorry. I just had a dream of those buzzy things. Only they've gone now and I'm not certain why."

"A dream?" Thalliv's brows knit together in confusion. "But you were awake. And all those things you said to Mr. Calceterre!"

"What did I say to him?" The dreamsayer blinked. "I know I was on about that swarm a bit, but it wasn't anything really terrible."

"Rea," Aras' voice sounded uncertain, "you spoke the Old Speech. I've only ever heard that once when…" he paused, in thought, "well, sometime."

"What? No I didn't." She blinked again for good measure, trying to recall the exchange. There was that moment when she had been describing the creatures to the stoat and then suddenly found herself with a vice grip on his body, and not a hairsbreadth away. "When did I…? What-what did I say?"

She turned to look at the stoat in question. He met her eyes and Rea thought she saw a flicker of suspicion cross before his face before he replied. Her ears might have deceived her, but he sounded hesitant. "You spoke rather…cryptically, though I gathered that I am to take note of some creatures we shall encounter in the future."

"Lotta nonsense brought on by heat," Sybil's voice shook ever so slightly as she interjected and the dreamsayer noticed her tensed shoulders and prickling fur. Wonderful. She'd already worried the marten with one outburst and threats, now she'd moved on to outright fear.

"Look, I'm sorry," the wolf apologized. "I sometimes have these moments and I can't quite remember what's happened. I – Granny said – but it's not really that important if – I mean, they're not even real and…" she trailed off before she could make more of a rambling fool of herself.

_Get your thoughts in order first!_

"I'm a dreamsayer, like I've said," she explained. "There's a lot of mystical nonsense surrounding them in the Circle. _I_ don't believe any of it," she added hastily, although, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to hold onto her disbelief. "But my Granny said that I have the talent for it and I can sometimes…see things that have happened to other beasts…or will happen.

Rea closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and shrugged. "I think you should ignore whatever I said." The only alternative was to accept that the dreams were all real, and that they were growing stronger. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ do that. It would mean she had been the fool all these seasons with Granny quietly laughing behind her back. That wouldn't do at all! "You're right. It's the heat making me delirious. Wretched thing this heat, eh, Aras? Give me a fine winter blizzard any day!" She tried to laugh as she backed away to the end of the line, but her tail curling itself none-too-subtly between her legs ruined the effect.

"Yes. Well." Antonio cleared his throat and sheathed his hatchet before straightening out his dirty shirt as best he could. "_I_ think it is time we move out. Be sure to keep yourself hydrated, Ms. Rea, and the…heat should not unduly trouble you."

"Right…" the dreamsayer mumbled, trying to look everywhere but the wary eyes of her companions.

"Do you hear something?" Everybeast looked around apprehensively at Aras. How could such a common phrase become so insidious? They had been marching for nigh on three hours with their only respite from the elements a brief puff of salty air braving the underside of the canopy.

"Don't tell me yer goin' mad, too," Sybil slogged ahead, distancing herself as best she could in the line.

"It's buzzing," Aras deadpanned.

"Buzzing?" the wolf's ears flicked around trying to catch the sound and…there!

"Yes." The wolverine shot her such a pointed glare that she couldn't help flinching.

"Let us investigate, then," Antonio suggested, already striking out in the direction from which the noise emanated.

"Why you wanna go lookin' fer it?" Sybil demanded. "Seems t'me, O Wise One, we shouldn't go runnin' off after ghosts when we got a job t'do."

"Where is your sense of curiosity, Ms. Sybil?" Antonio queried.

_In the gutter with her mind,_ Rea had to resist the urge to answer.

"One may set aside a task shortly to satisfy that ever persistent voice in the back of one's mind that demands knowledge," the stoat finished.

"_You_ hear voices?" The marteness sputtered. "Am I the only sane one here?"

"I'm sane." Thalliv raised a paw.

"Sir Antonio was being rhetorical," Silisk hissed, defying gravity as she raised her body up without paws to support her. "All creatures burn with a desire to know the unknown."

"Intelligent creatures, anyway," Thalliv interjected with a chuckle, but immediately sobered with a yelp when Sybil cuffed him.

"Ah! That's them! The buzzy things!" Rea cried, cutting off further conversation as they approached a large tree with a curious mud-like structure dangling from one of the lower branches.

"Wasps. They are called wasps, Ms. Rea," Antonio supplied helpfully. The wolf grinned and turned to thank him, but the words caught in her throat when she saw the grave expression on the stoat's face. "A hive that large is very dangerous. I should not like to disturb them, so let us be on our way."

"What was the point o' this little venture?" Sybil grumbled. "Lotta fuss fer some bugs."

"I know where they are now and can avoid them later," the accountant replied, glancing momentarily at Rea with that same suspicion.

"What?" The wolf's hackles rose defensively. _I wasn't even the one who asked!_

"Nothing, Ms. Rea. Nothing, at all."


	36. 21 to Win

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 34. 21 to Win**

_by Aras_

"Stop squirming," Rea commanded, disregarding the indignant sniff Antonio gave her

How far could a beast walk into the woods? Half-way. Easily solved.

Walk halfway into the woods? Easily done. Right?

Wrong. This was not the bloody woods. Wood, as a matter of fact, played a very small part in this horrible emerald kaleidoscope. Hostile, razor-like plants thrived everywhere, choking off any attempt at easy passage. Needles and spines had caught Aras' fur in a thousand different places, introducing a new sting every time the wolverine altered his posture.

Worse than the plants, though, was the humidity. The moisture-laden air clung to Aras like a damp cloak, and Aras continually felt as though he was gasping for breath in a rainstorm. Even the dank cell at Camp Amrock hadn't achieved this level of wretchedness.

_Camp Amrock._ Even thinking about it brought bile to his throat. Most of Aras' life was nothing but zephyrs of the stolen past, but everything since awakening in jail was his to keep. Aras could never forget that miserable scumhole. Not even if he tried.

_They thought he was sleeping. Fools. His eyes were open just that miniscule fraction, taking in every detail, formulating a plan of escape. But for now, he lay still. One of the hares was watching._

"Braithewaite!" boomed an imperious voice. "Close that bloomin' flap!"

The rusty slit scraped closed. "Sorry, Sarge."

"'Sorry, Sarge." That's all you've got t'say, 'Sorry, Sarge?'"

"Sorry, Sarge."

Aras winced. Stupidity like Braithewaite's actually hurt_ to listen to._

Solemn seconds ticked by.

"Say, Sarge?"

The beleaguered officer sighed. "What is it?"

"I don't get it, Sarge. The lads were jawing about it at the mess, about how they think it's a wolverine we've caught. Padilla said she knows, 'cause he read about in the olden days when there was a wolverine came to Mossflower with a bunch of flesh-eatin' vermin."

"That wasn't a question, Private."

"Well, so what if jolly ol' beasts eat meat? All sorts of vermin types're known to munch down birds and fish. Matter of fact, I'm rather partial to bally old woodpigeon eggs m'self, sah."

Aras had been wondering this himself. The wolverine strained his ears for the Sergeant's answer.

"Braithewaite, birds and fish is one thing. It's not murder, killing a fish. They haven't got brains, most of 'em, don't even rightly know you've done it, wot. But wolverines, them was murderous savages, slaughterin' intelligent beasts, like you and me, just t'keep themselves going. There's a special place at Hellgates reserved for beasts depraved like that. "

"Pity. This one doesn't seem all that bad, really."

Condemnation chilled the senior hare's voice. "Don't waste your pity on that one, Braithewaite. Not after what he's done. Beasts like that are pure evil, killing's all they know. Besides, we don't really know it's a wolverine yet. We'll have to wait on Salamandastron for confirmation."

"T'think we might be peepin' at a real live wolverine. Awfully surreal, huh, Sarge?"

"Yes, Braithewaite. Very surreal."

The conversation ended there. When night fell, Aras scraped at the bolts harder than ever.

Surreal.

That was a good word for this whole situation. "Ridiculous" was almost a better fit, but that would imply a possibility of levity. These circumstances were not funny. They couldn't even be said to be tragically funny...

"Hearken, earthwalkers!"

Silisk emerged from a maze of fronds.

"Did you locate the tree, Silisk?" Antonio queried.

The adder rose up, her tongue flicking pleasurably. "Indeed, yon three-seasons fox lies not far ahead. Our destination is nearly at coil."

"Don't you mean, 'at paw?'"

Silisk glared venomously at Thalliv.

Antonio brusquely took charge of the situation. "I strongly suggest that we remain alert and on guard. There is no way of knowing what we may encounter." The ermine turned to face Thalliv. "I suggest you ready your crossbow."

Aras internally rolled his eyes as the group pushed forward. _What a joke. If we get into a scuffle, he'll be too busy widdling his breeches to actually fire the thing. Sarkleyet might as well have given it to Silisk._

Emerging from the brush, the party found themselves in the midst of a small clearing. Devoid of the verdant filter, sunlight poured into the open space, illuminating the magnificent object of their quest...

"A damn old stump?" Sybil demanded.

The marteness had remarkable intuition when it came to noticing the bloody obvious. A damn stump it was. Old, too. No mistaking that. The gnarled trunk looked as though it had weathered several lifetimes' worth of seasons. Strangely, a slender sapling appeared to be growing up from a split in the wood.

"Not just any damned stump, Miss Sybil." Antonio stroked his chin. "This tree may well be the answer to our riddle."

Thalliv was confused, and said so. "Didn't the riddle say something about a fox and head?"

"I'm not sure I understand either," Aras admitted. These foreign trees bore no resemblance to either creature. Until this point, he had mentally envisioned the fox and hundred-seasons-old head as a rather awkward statue.

"Then I suggest you both pay attention whilst I explain," huffed Antonio.

"Observe," the ermine proclaimed, crossing over to the mossy stump. "This aged trunk is from a golden pine. That gives us the hundread-seasons head portion. Now," Antonio lectured, "This young shoot is from a tree known as the Dogwood. 'Dog' is an informal term occasionally used to refer to vulpine species. So, there you have it."

"That sapling is a three-seasons-old 'fox' tree. It's sitting on the 'head' of a hundred-seasons-old tree," Rea explained to a still-befuddled Thalliv.

Aras cast a dubious glance at the stump. "Well, then, if this tree's the answer to the riddle, what exactly are we supposed to do with it?"

Everybeast stared pensively at the thing. Apart from the dogwood shoot, there was absolutely nothing to distinguish it from any other stump.

Aras watched impassively as Rea knelt down and began closely examining the wood. Antonio was hovering about, trying to find his own solution. Silisk basked approvingly on his shoulders.

With a sigh, the wolverine stumped off to the far edge of the clearing. This solution was a stab in the dark, at best. And even if it wasn't, best to leave the trees to those who knew them.

Dropping his haversack, Aras settled down against a fallen trunk to watch the investigations unfold. Finding nothing obvious about the stump itself, Rea and Thalliv had begun scraping at the ground near its roots. Antonio and Silisk hovered nearby, supervising closely.

Beneath the folds of his tunic, the wolverine's stomach growled irritably. Choosing to skip breakfast was proving to be a serious mistake. He snagged the pack with a claw and dragged it forward. Perhaps he could force himself to manage one of the bread rolls. If the others ate such things regularly, they couldn't possibly be that bad.

As Aras' paw clasped around a spongy lump, he suddenly realized the effect that swamp mud and two days of perpetual sweating could have on a porous baked good. The nuts still looked good, though, so he sampled a few. They tasted distinctly like dirt.

Behind him, one of the bushes rustled. Aras whirled, claws bared.

Silence. An eternity later, the bush moved once more, swayed by the currents of jungle breeze. A small clump of bread pulp dropped from his claws. Aras felt like an idiot.

Perhaps he _was_ an idiot. Perhaps they all were.

_We could have saved him. We could have saved the stupid cat, but we were all too panicked to get our act together. There was one of Castille, and six of us._

Seven. There were six now, but there _had been_ seven, then.

Dirano was dead. Dead, or dying slowly. Some of the more irrational beasts were probably clinging to the last shred of uncertainty, but, in the pit of his stomach, Aras knew the truth. Beasts who set traps and spill blood down the air shaft aren't the type to take prisoners. When blood was spilled, it was for keeps.

Something about the way Dirano had been taken bothered Aras tremendously. It wasn't grief that Dirano had been the one to die. Aras hadn't liked the cat. Hellgates, he hadn't liked the cat. Dirano had been loathsome at best. Not even the charitable veil of ignorance traditionally thrown upon the dead could sufficiently cloud that.

No, what pierced Aras to the core was the fact that it could have been literally any one of them. Under slightly different circumstances, Aras could have been first up those stairs. He would be the one who'd lost his life so that a group of relative strangers could acquire a box and some papers. And they would have run out all the same, leaving him alone to deal with the disembodied menace. That was a highly disturbing notion.

However, in the perfect, rosy little world that Antonio had constructed, such a scenario would not occur again.

_Thanks be to the almighty contract. After all, what craven cur could possibly dare to run, or in some cases, slither, away and leave the others to die, after they had signed a little piece of paper saying that they wouldn't? _

Aras had to swallow a bitter laugh every time he thought of it. For somebeast so educated, the ermine had an astonishing lack of practical intelligence. In the heat of the moment, loyalties and signatures counted for nothing. Anybeast would throw any other beast in front of the horde if it increased the odds of their own survival; that was a fundamental fact of life.

As his attention wandered from the attempts between weasel and wolf to unearth some clue from the stump, Aras noticed that he wasn't the only one who'd opted out of the investigations. Sybil had scaled a leaning tree trunk, and was watching the proceedings with mild disinterest. _Probably wants to relate every juicy detail to Sarkleyet when we return._

Aras scrounged a few more nuts from the sodden pack, and tossed one into his mouth. Crushing it to bits with his teeth, the wolverine tried not to focus on the taste. An idea was beginning to take form in his mind. He rolled the chunks around with his tongue, trying to shape things together.

If Sybil could watch the stump from the trees, who was to say that somebeast else couldn't? Or, rather, wasn't doing so already?

As he popped a second nut into his mouth, Aras scanned the trees in his peripheral vision. Nothing stood out amongst the jumbled shadows. It wasn't surprising, really. If Nevyeer or any of his cronies were watching the clearing, they weren't going to be obvious about it.

The wolverine meandered over to the excavation site, and nudged Antonio. "I have a suspicion."

"Very well. Enlighten me, Master Ikaras."

"Enlighten us, Master Ikaras," Silisk amended.

Aras paused grimly under the snake's unblinking gaze. He would have preferred to keep things private. No point in pressing the issue, though. Especially if he was wrong. "Well, what if the stump is a false clue?"

"Pardon me?"

"Well, Nevyeer was suffering from paranoia, right? If Silisk knew about this place, odds are most of the jungle does too. Why would he use it to hide a clue for his assistants if there was a risk that someone else could find it?"

Silisk seemed to rankle at his mention of her name, and flicked her tail irritably. "Earthwalkers are naught but foolish bags of flesh! Who can fathom their ignorant choices?"

"Granted, and that may well be the case," Aras replied soothingly. "But, this clearing can be spied on from anywhere in the surrounding area. What if Nevyeer had arranged it so that anybeast who tried to follow him would come here? That way, when the assistant showed up, Nevyeer could verify whether or not he'd been followed, and have him escorted from here. And if the wrong party showed up, they would assume they'd found a dead end, and continue looking elsewhere."

Antonio nodded slowly. "That would be... plausible."

Aras could sense the word "but" looming on the horizon well before the ermine's lips had formed it.

"But you must admit that your theory significantly strains credulity, Master Ikaras. For a start, Nevyeer would be required to post an omnipresent guard to ensure the success of such a venture. It would seem highly unwise for him to waste his limited resources in such a fashion."

"Good point," Aras sighed.

On the other side of the stump, Rea stiffened. "Do you hear that?" the wolf hissed.

There was no doubting the wolf's revelation this time. A shuffling, crunching sound began to echo around the clearing.

Aras asked the question on everybeast's lips. "Castille?"

Rea shook her head. "Definitely more than one. It sounds like an army!"

There was a metallic ring as Antonio withdrew his hatchet and headed for the tree line. "Then perhaps we shall extend them a friendly salute."


	37. Putting Things On Top of Other Things

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 35. Society for Putting Things on Top of Other Things**

_by Zula_

Zula had seen more than her fair share of dirt and grime in her relatively short life, but never anything like this. The stench of the sewers was just not something one got used to; the vixen wondered vaguely if Nevyeer's creatures ever had. As they set off again through the sewers, Nevyeer in the lead and Brull following close behind, muttering dire threats to the ferret about what he'd do to him if he led them astray, Zula hoped Rekkua and the others would forgive her for her little fib earlier about needing to stay clean. Of course, technically her mother _did_ often lament the grubbiness of her child, but Zula never really listened. But it was no fair, her being much shorter than the others. The water would come up to her waist, probably, and who knew how long that stink would cling to her brush?

Instead, Zula chose to ignore her guilt and enjoy the second ride on Rekkua's shoulders that day. At first, the lizard's cold scales felt bizarre, rather like sitting on a larger version of Silisk, but the fox was beginning to get used to them. She wondered if Silisk had felt the same way about her shoulders and sighed, wishing her friend could have come with them instead of going to look for the Red Brandy. Now _that_ would have been a sight, herself on top of Rekkua's shoulders and Silisk atop hers. Zula couldn't help but giggle aloud at the thought.

"What iz funny?" Rekkua muttered somewhat sulkily.

Zula shared the strange, imagined scene with Rekkua, but the lizard just sighed in reply.

"You should try laughin' sometime, Ms. Rekkua. It's fun, it is."

"And maybe you try walking?" the lizard threatened.

Zula fell silent and went back to imagining things stacked on top of other things.

Nevyeer led them through many twists and turns; Zula tried to keep track of which forks they took but after a while she gave up trying to count them all. Eventually the ferret stopped at the base of a ladder which stretched up into what looked like a narrow, vertical tunnel in the ceiling.

"Up there, through the tunnel, should take you right to it," he said. "Come, Geoffrey! Let us away."

The ferret motioned for his imaginary servant to follow him before slinking off, back the way he had come.

Sheriff Brull watched him go, shaking his head. "Absolutely mental."

"Let's just hope his brain worked enough to get us to the headquarters," said Pearl.

Brull started up the ladder. The other three watched the rat's progress as he reached the top and began fumbling with the lid covering the tunnel's entrance. A faint grating noise stung their ears and they were all bathed in a pale beam of light. For a nervous few moments, all they could see was the lower half of Brull's body protruding from the hole (which was not the greatest of views, really), but then, finally, the rat's head reappeared.

"All clear," he called down to them softly. "Best be quiet about it, though."

Pearl made her way up the ladder. Once she had gone, Rekkua moved forward and Zula grabbed hold of the metal rungs, hoisting herself most ungracefully off the lizard's shoulders. The vixen scrambled up the ladder and out into the street. The sun was just beginning to set by now. Rekkua emerged shortly after and slid the hefty iron lid back into place.

Zula looked around curiously at the deserted streets. "This doesn't look much like a headquarters t'me."

"Of course it doesn't," said Brull. "You don't think I'd have us climb out right in the middle of a group of woodlanders, do you? Please don't answer that," he added when Zula opened her mouth to give a response to the rhetorical question. He pointed down the street, continuing, "Nevyeer said that there's a town square a few streets down that way. Says that's where they interrogate all of their captives before locking them up. I say we check it out, and hopefully Zula will be able to find Jericho or whatever his name is before too long."

"You mean Gericault?" Zula asked hopefully, her eyes brightening.

"Yes, him. Now let's move. Zula, please, remember to keep your voice down."

"Okay, Mr. Sheriff, Sir," she whispered fervently.

The rat shut his eyes, clearly searching the hidden depths of his soul for another scrap of patience. "Okay. Good."

They made their way down the street, their eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Zula kept close to Pearl, with Brull ahead of them and Rekkua bringing up the rear. Suddenly, Brull halted, and Zula nearly ran into him from behind. The rat held up a paw, urgently motioning them to follow him quickly. They darted down a narrow alley, ducking down behind some rotting crates. Zula peered over the tops of them, gasping as a familiar figure strode into view.

"Ger—"

Pearl clapped a paw over the younger vixen's mouth. "Hush!" she hissed. "Do you want everyone to know where we are?"

"But it's him, Ms. Pearl!" Zula whispered. "On me affidavit 'tis!"

"He looks to be alone," Brull observed quietly. "Zula, maybe you should go talk to him. He knows you best. But scream like you've never screamed before if you run into trouble."

"Can do, Mr. Sheriff!" Zula nodded.

The young vixen left the cover of the crates behind and trotted back out into the street. She saw the otter walking away and ran after him.

"Mr. Gericault, wait up!"

The otter turned, surprise stamped on his features when he recognized her. "Oh my..._Zula_?"

"Aww, y' remembered m' name," Zula said, smiling sheepishly and kicking awkwardly at the cobblestones with a footpaw.

"What are you doing here? I heard some of you escaped, but I thought you'd all be long gone by now."

"But we're not! There's more of us just a little ways back. Want to meet 'em? They won't hurt you, I swears on me tail they won't."

Gericault looked apprehensive, to say the least. "Er, I dunno if that's such a good idea. I'm supposed to be reporting back to headquarters soon."

"C'mon, please?" Zula put on her best sad face. "Please, Mr. Geri?"

The otter sighed. "All right, lead the way."

He held out a battle-scarred paw. Zula stared at it for a few moments before grabbing it, feeling oddly fuzzy inside as she did so. _He remembered my name!_ Grinning at the thought, the vixen practically dragged him back down the alley, where Brull, Rekkua and Pearl stood waiting. Gericault looked uneasier still at the sight of them.

"Everyone, this is Gericault," Zula announced.

Something brushed roughly by Zula, knocking her to the ground. Next thing she knew, Pearl had the otter by the lapels and was shaking him.

"Where is she? _Where is she_?"

"Ms. Pearl!" Zula cried, and she was surprised to hear both Brull's and Rekkua's voices mingling with her own.

Gericault struck out instinctively, cuffing Pearl between the ears. The fox sank to the ground, whimpering, and the otter definitely looked as though fleeing would be a good idea at the moment.

"What is going on? What is this vixen talking about?"

"Please!" Pearl sobbed. "I'm s-sorry, but it's just b-been so long since I've s-s-seen her!"

"Gericault, is it?" Brull said, stepping forward and helping Pearl to her footpaws. "Listen, sorry about Pearl, but her kit's been imprisoned by your lot, and, not surprisingly, she hasn't taken it very well. Zula said you're a friend of hers. We need your help busting her kit out, as well as...some...of the others."

Gericault looked from Brull to Zula, and back to Brull. "Look, I dunno what you're expecting of me, and while I can't say I entirely approve of the actions of Felldoh's Heirs, I can't exactly go about aiding and abetting their enemies."

"Why not?" asked Rekkua, looking vaguely disgusted. "If you not approve?"

"Because!" Gericault cried. "Marcion would have my hide if he found out! A very dangerous beast, that squirrel. He's so passionate about his cause, and you just don't want to know what happens to beasts that disagree with him. Like my sister. He...uses her, only for his disgusting needs, but he doesn't care a whit about her."

"Don't worry, he won't find out," said Brull. "All you'll have to do is help us create some sort of a diversion. We'll do the rest. You won't have to get your paws dirty."

"A diversion? How am I supposed to do that?"

A relative silence fell. Apparently Brull hadn't thought that far ahead yet.

"Er, well..." he said slowly.

Zula raised a paw. "I think I've got a plan, Mr. Sheriff."

The rat sighed. "Okay, let's hear it."

"Well, Mr. Geri, you said that Mr. Marcion uses yer sister, right?"

The otter's eyes were dark as midnight and his voice was tense. "Yes. He does."

"An'...she's an otter, right?"

"Of course she's an otter, Zula," he said.

"Can you please just get to the point?" Pearl begged.

Zula nodded, a rather sly smile spreading across her muzzle. "Oh aye, Ms. Pearl. It's just that Mr. Geri says Mr. Marcion likes to use 'is sister without carin' for her, which means species don't matter much t' him, nor do their feelin's. Sure an' if he could do that t' her, he could do it t' another beast."

Pearl looked confused. "Another beast? But who, exactly...?"

She paused. All eyes had become fixed on her.

"_Absolutely not!_" she shrieked.


	38. If You Can't Be With the One You Love

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 36. If You Can't Be With The One You Love**

_by Pearl_

When you're down and confused  
And you don't remember who you're talking to  
Concentration slip away  
Because your baby, is so far away  
Well there's a rose in a fisted glove  
And the eagle fly with the dove  
And if you cant be with the one you love.. honey  
Love the one you're with

"No! No no nonono, I can't! I promised I wouldn't!" Pearl looked around at the other four beasts who were all staring back at her. "It would be setting a terrible example for Sandy and just giving them more fodder for their belief that I'm not a fit parent. I won't . . ."

"It's not like ye haven't done it before," Zula offered unhelpfully.

The older vixen started to reply but the protest died on her lips. _They're right. Rekkua and the sheriff have been trained as warriors and even Zuzu showed some fighting spirit back there with the hares. I can't rush into battle like they can._

"If I must, I'll . . ." She resigned herself with a sigh. "What's the plan?"

Through the streets of Evnakt, the otter led the vixen. He may have been escorting her to a dance for all the force he exerted with one paw gently cupping her elbow. It definitely wasn't any violence on his part that caused her to stumble.

"Are you all right there, Ma'am?"

Pearl smiled at the polite woodlander. "Just fine considering the circumstances. I was thinkin' about what we've got to do." The vixen swished her tail and thought she caught the stench of the sewers. She hoped the little she had been able to do to clean up would be enough.

"I suppose I should be paying more attention to where I'm walking." She patted his paw. "And you shouldn't be worrying about treating me so good. We wanna make this look convincing, don't we?"

"Of course, Ma'am." Gericault gave her a quick nervous grin and then hardened his features and his grip on her upper arm. "I'm takin' you in t'see the boss an' there's nothin' you can do about it," he barked.

The look of anger and fear that she gave him as a part of her own act must have been persuasive because Pearl almost thought she saw his resolve falter. Instead he nodded and resumed their march. When they came in sight of the square she began to struggle.

"No! Let me go! I don't know anything about any Red Brandy!"

"Oh you know and you're gonna tell what you know or you're never gonna see your kit again!"

"Where is she? Just tell me!"

The commotion drew the attention of vermin and woodlanders alike. It was just as Gericault had told them. The squirrel leader of Felldoh's Heirs was sitting behind a desk while one by one, vermin who were bound paw and footpaw were led before him for interrogation.

Marcion looked up from his paperwork at the new distraction, only mildly annoyed. "Just put her in line with the others." He gestured with a paw at the line of mustelids, rats, and foxes.

_This isn't working. Time to step it up a notch._ Pearl didn't really want to do it, but the otter seemed to be loosing his nerve. She drew her footpaw back and kicked him hard in the shin. "Give me back my kit, Riverdog! Sarkleyet was right! He said you were all a bunch of villains! He was right to hide the Brandy from you!"

That was the story they had concocted. Better to leave Nevyeer out of it. He was supposed to be dead anyway. And nobeast would be overly upset if the woodlanders took out the evil old marten.

"Wait." Marcion held up a paw, stood, and pushed the weasel he had been formerly questioning out of the way. "Bring that one here, Gericault."

The otter, limping slightly from Pearl's kick, nodded and complied with the leader's order. But it was the vixen's turn to get distracted from the main objective. A female wildcat shoved her way through the crowd of woodlanders.

"Let her go! She doesn't know anything!" Emma called out in defense of her former employer.

This time it was Gericault who rectified the situation. "Oh she knows something. She's been up in that big house learning all kinds of secrets from that mad scientist."

Marcion ignored both his minions, his eyes focused hungrily on Pearl. "Do you know where the Red Brandy is?"

The vixen was momentarily cowed by the fervor of the squirrel.

"Tell me where Sarkeyet has hidden the Brandy!"

"I don't care about any brandy!" Pearl finally burst out and it was true. This is where it ceased to be an act. "I just want my kit back!"

The otter, in a fit of adrenalin, shoved his captive forward with more force then strictly necessary. "Tell him what you know, whore!"

The vixen fell roughly at Marcion's footpaws, grasped his boots with both paws, and looked up at the squirrel, pleading, "I just want my kit back. I'll do . . ." One paw ran slowly, seductively up the back of the black boot and caressed the fur of the calf that emerged from the top of it. " . . . anything."

The look in the squirrel's eyes changed slightly then. It was no less hungry but this was more the hunger that that the madam was familiar with. For a moment longer he studied her indecisively then he mastered himself and stepped back out of her reach.

Emma rushed forward. "She's just trying to fool you into getting her kit back. She doesn't know anything. You should let her go. Send her off somewhere."

Marcion roughly pushed the younger female out of the way. "I'll decide that for myself, quean! Get the other vermin back to their cells! I want to question the vixen further."

There was a flurry of activity as the woodland soldiers herded their vermin captives out of the square, and Pearl used the distraction to catch the catmaid's eye and whisper, "Thought you were dead."

"I won't let them hurt you," Emma whispered back before she was roughly kicked.

"What about this one?" Gericault sneered. He seemed to think Pearl's girl was messing up the plan but the vixen wasn't so sure. They were only supposed to cause a diversion. If Emma could help them draw this out a little longer, wasn't that a good thing?

_What is she up to though? Dirano said she sold him out. But then he had deserved it, hadn't he?_

"She's proved her loyalty but she doesn't need to be here now," Marcion waved a paw of dismissal. "Go back to your room, cat. You'll be summoned if you're needed."

Emma did not look as if she intended to leave at all as she stood, staring threateningly around at the woodlanders. "You're barking up the wrong tree with that one, I tell you." She started backing away, daunted by their superior numbers. "She'll tell you anything. Better to just send her on her way." At last fearful for her own hide, she turned and fled the circling Heirs.

The squirrel remained silent until there were only three beasts left in the square, himself, Gericault and the vixen. Then he addressed the otter, "You say she was in the marten's house? How do you know?"

"I caught her coming out of it, Sir."

"Hmmm," Marcion didn't seem convinced.

Pearl decided to speak up. _Just stay as close to the truth as possible._ "Another marten, Serpentcharmer-something, brought a group of us up there." She sat up a little straiter in her place still on the ground. "Sarkleyet talked to us. He said he wanted the Red Brandy but he wanted some other beasts to do his dirty work to fetch it." She didn't specify that none of them knew exactly where it was. "He promised payment for anybeast who would help him but I didn't want any part of it. I just want my kit back. That's all I've ever wanted. I know your creatures have her. Just give her to me and, I swear, I'll never cause you any bother again."

The vixen watched Marcion carefully as she spoke. She saw recognition when she mentioned Captain Serpentcharmer and eager interest when she spoke of Sarkleyet's quest. When she got back to the subject of Sandy, the squirrel looked almost pleased. Pearl swallowed, wondering if he was remembering the promise of 'anything'.

"Help the lady up, Geri. Take her to my room."

The otter stepped forward and helped Pearl to her footpaws. But the squirrel stopped them before they could get any further and stroked the vixen's face with his paw. "We'll _discuss_ this somewhere more comfortable?"

The madam barely contained a shudder, nodded, and allowed herself to be led away.

"Oh and Gericault," Marcion added. "Tell your sister I won't be needing her assistance this evening."


	39. Do the Ninja

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 37. Do the Ninja**

_by Rekkua  
_

_Ninja sneak ninja sneak to the wall,  
Ninja sneak ninja sneak down the hall,  
Ninja sneak, ninjas, ninjas all,  
Ninja sneak on with stocking paw._

"There she goes." Brull peered around the corner, tail twitching through the dirt.

"Let me zee." Rekkua gently – something that was new to her when dealing with furbeasts – pulled the rat back so she could get a look.

Escorted by that otter, Pearl was shuffling down the street, looking for all the world as if the world had abandoned her. She stumbled, and Rekkua winced.

"Are you zure t'iz iz best idea?"

Brull shrugged. "We don't have much choice."

"'Sides, she knows what she's doin'!" Zula almost sounded defensive. "She's 'ad lotsa practice."

The otter hustled Pearl past the guards and out of sight. She was inside the woodlander compound now – a massive, wooden building patched up and boarded. The prison they had escaped only the day before, and now they were back. Somewhere in there, Kiaza was locked away. And Zavak. Rekkua's tongue flicked in distaste. Rekkua had never cared for Zavak and his admiration of the _Zattaka_, but he was still Clan Jahk.

"Come on. We need to hurry. Pearl can't distract Marcion forever."

One last glance at the building, and Rekkua followed after Brull and Zula. Down a side street they slipped, moving as quietly as possible, slowly and slowly closer to the stronghold. They kept to the alleyways, always a wall between them and any prying eyes ahead.

A pair of armored rodents marched past, spears on shoulders. It was not until their pawsteps died away that the three unglued themselves from the pile of debris and continued forward. Finally, amazingly, they found themselves staring up at the edifice, all windows on the entire side boarded up and sealed.

Brull squinted, eyeing the row of windows above their heads. "Probably have the ground floor barricaded. Our best bet is something on the second floor." Apparently finding what he was looking for, he raised a paw to point. "Give that one a try."

To Rekkua, the window looked no different from the others. Then again, she was much more used to living in the jungle and really had no idea how furbeasts defended their wooden homes. Not that she had ever needed to know, or wanted to know now.

"About time you three showed up." From a battered shack stepped a weasel, one of their martie cohorts. "Was beginning to think you were giving us the skip. We were about to head back." From behind him filed nineteen other vermin, each more bedraggled than the next. Nevyeer's promised help. Twenty starving, malnourished, slightly-crazy creatures. Fantastic.

Brull puffed out his chest and brought himself toe to toe with the weasel. "Well, we're here now, so listen up." Brull waited until all eyes – bloodshot and not – were on him. "As far as we know, Pearl's in there right now…" The rat paused, coughed awkwardly. "…distracting their leader, so they'll hopefully not be quick to act if we're spotted. As long as we're all quiet, we should be fine."

Rekkua wondered if that were true. After the escape yesterday, the woodlanders were likely to be on much higher alert. Much more prone to acting without orders. She glanced sidelong at Zula. _She shouldn't have come along. She's much too young. Something might happen to…_ Rekkua snorted and gave her head a shake. _What do I care? She's a furbeast…! But, she's so unbiased. Much more respect from her than Sarkleyet._ Rekkua spat on the ground at the thought of the pine marten. Now _there_ was a creature to which something needed to happen!

"Rekkua, go to it."

Bringing herself back to the present, Rekkua nodded and clambered up the wall, finding easy grips in the cacophony of boards, cracks, and splits. Like walking on the beach! Within moments, she was balancing carefully on the narrow window ledge. Hindclaws digging into the slightly rotted wood of the sill and heavy tail hanging down to provide balance, she set to work searching for a loose board. Finding one, she began tugging, gently and without result.

"Need any help?" The question wafted up from below, both helpful and infinitely irritating.

Rekkua growled and renewed her efforts, scales scintillating as they stretched and rolled over her muscles. A very satisfying cracking later, and the plank flew backwards, nearly taking her with it. She cried out and arched her back, claws scrabbling for purchase. They hit something solid, and she curled inwards, entire body tensed.

"Are you alright?"

Her cool blood heated up, rushing to her face, and she didn't say anything for a moment, breathing long and deep to calm herself. It was only when her pulse began to regain some semblance of normality that she trusted herself to speak. And even then her reply was a bit wobbly, spoken through clenched teeth. "I iz fine." _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Squinting her eyes, she peered through the gap she had created in the window. _Just don't look at them. Don't think what they must be thinking._

Inside the building – at least this section – was dimly lit. What light might have streamed through was mostly blocked by Rekkua's head. She tasted the air. A strong musk lay thick about the interior, but it was dulled and faded. Nobeast had been this way for at least a day. "Iz all clear."

Now started, it was much easier to clear away the boards covering the window. After several minutes of tense work, there was a hole large enough to clamber through, and clamber through she did. Light now filled the room, illuminating shattered furniture and water-stained walls. Rekkua tiptoed towards the door, cringing at the creaking floorboards. Laying her head against the door, she listened for movement on the other side.

"Taking yor sweet time, aren't you?" A stoat's head, mangy and pitted, stared back at her from over the windowsill, a smirk rubbed across his ruined maw.

Rekkua glared and twitched her claws. If it wasn't one crazy beast talking down at her, it was another. First it was that mangy servant of Sarkleyet's, then the marten himself, then those corsairs, then Nevyeer and his crazies…

She shook her head. It was a good thing her three companions showed some measure of respect for her, or she would have been very tempted to split some hides. "Juzt zend t'he ot'erz up."

"Yeah, yeah." Tumbling into the room, the stoat tossed a length of rope over the side and tied it off.

As the room began to fill with furbeasts, Rekkua turned back to the door in exhasperation. She wrenched it open, splinters and debris sprinkling down from the doorframe. The hallway was gloomy and empty.

Zula bounced over to Rekkua and peered out with her lizard friend. "This is excitin'!" A swift paw covered her muzzle. It was a wonder this fox had survived past her first season!

"Bezt be quiet, Zula."

"So what now? We just goin' to stand 'ere?" That smelly stoat again.

Sparing a glare for him, Rekkua moved from the room, keeping to the walls, silent. Imitating her movements, Zula followed after, an ecstatic grin splashed across her snout. These attempts at stealth were completely ruined by Brull, the rat not even attempting to contain his bulk to the wall. The rest trailed behind. Down the hallway they stalked, slowing at intersections, creeping past voices, and, incredibly, not once being spotted.

After slipping down a staircase and doubling back no less than three times, the group approached a set of doors guarded by a mouse behind a desk. Spectacles rested on his nose, and he was half-hidden behind a sheaf of papers. Three and twenty pairs of paws stomped towards him, three and twenty unfriendly faces.

"More prisoners this early in the day?" He didn't look up once.

Brull covered Zula's eyes. "You shouldn' watch."

Without a word, Rekkua stepped up to the desk, ripped the papers out of the way, and sank her claws into the mouse's unnaturally-warm neck.

"Whaaa…?" His eyes bulged and his words died in a gargle. Rekkua could feel his pulse slipping, slowing. Stilling, stalling. Stopping. Spent.

"_Goodbye, furbeast._" The words lilted off her tongue, much more melodic than the harsh language of the _Zattaka_. "[/I]Rest peacefully.[/I]" The mouse crumpled to the desk, glasses askew, eyes closed forever. Rekkua wiped her claws clean in his fur and grabbed the keys off the mouse's belt.

"No time to lose," Brull said. "Let's go!" He pushed open the door. A murmur of voices greeted them, and that horrible taste from when Rekkua was imprisoned washed outwards.

The band of rescuers rushed into the hall, Rekkua in the midst of them. Voices emanated from behind six doors, grimy faces materializing at the barred screens.

"Look! It's a buncha Marties!"

"What're you lot doin' here?"

"We don't want no Marties in here wif us!"

"We're here to bloody save you!" Brull growled. "Rekkua, pass me the keys!" Rekkua tossed the key ring to the rat, who began fumbling through them, trying one after the other on the door he was standing in front of. Finally, one worked, and the door swung open. Vermin came filing out as Brull moved to the next door.

Rekkua watched as the prisoners were released, looking for two familiar faces. They weren't in the first one. They weren't in the second or third one. From the fourth one strolled a vixen, who, upon catching sight of Zula, nodded and gave a somewhat awkward pat on the head. Still no Varan.

The last one to step from the fifth one, however…

"_Zavak!_" Rekkua rushed over and, without thinking, wrapped her arms around the other lizard.

Surprised, Zavak returned the embrace, his reaction a little slow. "_Rekkua? What are you doing here? You weren't in any of these cells!_"

"_I can't believe you're alright!_" She pulled away from her clanmate and peered into the empty cell behind. "_Where's Kiaza?_"

"_Right here._" A third monitor lizard staggered over, teetered, and began tipping towards Rekkua.

She caught him. "_Kiaza! Are you okay?_ If her sibling's appearance was anything to go by, he was very clearly not alright. His eyes were sunken and listless, the wound on his arm was scabbed over and cracked, and the scales surrounding it were discolored.

Kiaza smiled weakly. "_Been better. The food here is terrible._"

Zavak nodded. "_And there's no sun. My blood feels like mud._"

"Okay everyone. Let's move out!" It was Brull trying to get control of the mass of bodies now filling the hallway.

"Why should we listen to you?" A female rat next to Rekkua, arms crossed, was staring challengingly at Brull.

Gently passing her brother to Zavak, Rekkua straightened and leered down at the rat, teeth full of menace. "You will lizzen to him becauze he haz zet you free. If you wizh to get out of here, you lizzen to him."

The rat shrank back from the fearsome native, muttering something under her breath. A small part of Rekkua was disgusted by the rat's fear, but another, more savage part, exulted in it.

Nodding his thanks, Brull continued. "Right. We're getting out of here as fast as we can, whatever path we find first. Stay together and watch each other's. . ."

A pair of guards rounded the corner. Instant silence fell as everybeast stared at them.

"Uh, er. . .what are you vermin doin' out of yor cells?"


	40. You Know You're Judas

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 38. You Know You're Judas, and I'm the Priest**

_by Brull_

Out of everything he had counted on, somehow the appearance of guards, inside their own headquarters, doing their job, had completely eluded Brull's planning. With the prisoners already outside of their cell, there wasn't much chance of talking things over with the woodlanders. Only one thing for it. "Get 'em!"

No matter how brave they might have been, the two guards didn't seem to fancy the prospect of tackling an oncoming stampede of escaped prisoners, and dashed out of the hall. Sadly for Brull, it was soon revealed that the door was too small to allow the mass of vermin to continue the charge, and the scene soon degenerated into pushing and shoving to try and squeeze beasts out of the portal.

"Stop! Wait! Hold on, you're all... will you stop your bloody mulling around and let me through?!" Shoving aside those in his way, the rat forced himself out of the hall, only to find that the guards had long since vanished. "Oh, lovely," Brull growled. "That's just lovely." Pushing back a smaller rat who was standing in the doorway, the Sheriff shook his head. "Good news, mates. If our friends come back with some of their pals, you don't have to leave your warm, comfy cells. Now ain't that nice?"

The groan that seeped like toxic fumes out of the prisoners was loud enough to alert any guard in the city. "Some rescuing job this is!"

"Might as well go back now."

"Why don't you and the lizard go back where yeh came from?"

The weasel who had spoken last soon found his neck encompassed by a rapidly tightening fist, attached to the arm of a rapidly angering Sheriff. "Listen, you half-brained, sorry-excuse for a throw-rug! The only reason I'm here is to help you lot, and I'm not doin' it because I'm warm and fuzzy inside. Now we're going to escape, and you're gonna like it, or you'll be one head short of a weasel, understand?!" Without waiting for an answer, Brull threw the wretch to the ground and addressed the rest of the malcontents. "Next beast to whine and snivel gets eaten by the lizard! Everybody got that?"

Not many nods, but the overall absence of moaning indicated the message had been received.

"Lovely. Now we're gonna get outta here, so just sit tight while my friends and I work something out." Amidst the general grumblings of the crowd, Rekkua and Zula found their way to the Sheriff's side. "All right, who's got some ideas?" Brull mumbled quietly.

Zula opened her mouth, but was cut off by Rekkua. "Ztop calling me 't'e lizard!' It makez it zound like I'm t'e only monitor in t'e world."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Brull forced an apology. "M'sorry. Now, are we gonna argue titles, or are we getting our tails out of here before the entire guard comes back with a vengeance?"

Zula shifted uncomfortably. "S'pose we should go back for Ms. Pearl? She might be lonely."

"Oh, I bet she has more company than she knows what to do with," Brull coughed, though even he couldn't overlook the tastelessness of his own joke. Shouldn't say those sort of things about Pearl, especially when she might actually be in trouble. "She'll be fine. Got a good head on her shoulders." He hoped she'd be fine. He didn't fancy coming back to get her if she was in trouble, but then, he didn't relish going on without her. Too valuable in the planning department. This whole break-out had been her idea, after all. Wonder where that kid of hers is? He couldn't see a young kit anywhere at this moment, but then the room was so crowded, she could be anywhere. "She'll be fine."

"Will we be?" Rekkua asked. "Zeems we have more beastz t'an we can manage."

Brull bit his lip. "Well, I'm usually up for fighting it out, but the way this lot is in a funk, most of 'em will probably get themselves killed and we'll be right back to where we started. How are those lizard buddies of yours in a scrap, Reks?"

"My brother iz zick, I don't know why. Zavak iz weak alzo. Not enough proper zunlight. And don't call me Rekz."

"'Pologies. So we run for it, and that's fine. But where? Can't keep a horde of prisoners in the streets, and I don't fancy going back to Sarkleyet's place just yet." Unless I can punch him too, he thought, wondering if Nevyeer's face had healed yet. Didn't seem right, now, beating up on the wretched ferret while the marten got to live high-and-mighty in his mansion.

Raising her paw in the air and hopping up and down slightly, Zula happily announced, "I know! We can take 'em to Miss Pearl's! 'Oasis' it's called. It's in town, it is, not too far. 'Less she locked the door. Hope not." Zula trailed off, scratching her chin and contemplating the complications of opening a door that was locked.

Brull glanced at Rekkua, who shrugged. "Zeems fine."

Nodding slowly, Brull tried to piece together details in his head. He hated planning in a crisis. Too much uncertainty, and too much need for speed. Solving a crime, he could take his time and think things over, consider the possibilities. Producing things on the fly was unnatural. "Right." Turning his attention back to the prisoners, the rat raised his voice. "All right, you lot, listen up! We're getting outta here, and we're doing it smart-like. No more running helter-skelter. You're gonna form a line and follow the liz... Rekkua, who's gonna lead you out the way we came in. Any one steps out of line, and she eats you. Got it?"

"I'm not a walking pile of teeth, you know."

Ignoring his partner, Brull continued. "Now, how many of you know where the Oasis is?" Considering the majority of the prisoners seemed to be male, the flurry of paws that shot up in the air wasn't that surprising. Coughing into his own paw, the Sheriff waved for the arms to go down. "Fine. That's where we'll be meeting up. When you get out, I want you all to break up into smaller groups and head in any direction you please, so long as you find your way to the Oasis. It'll be harder to track down a bunch of small groups than it will a single big one."

"An' what if we don't feel like showing up at the Oasis?" sneered the female rat from earlier.

"Then I kick your head in!" barked the Sheriff. When you were being rescued, you were supposed to keep your mouth shut. Where did this rodent crawl out from under?

"'ow will you kick our 'eads in if we ain't there?" a dim looking weasel queried.

"Shut up!"

"Sorry."

"And where'll you be during all this? At the front of the line, I bet."

Brull couldn't detect who had spoken, which did nothing to improve his mood. "I'm going t'be hanging back and making sure your lousy hides aren't killed. Speaking of which, if any of you fancy staying behind with me, instead of slinking off like ungrateful slugs, it'd improve our odds."

Apparently, being called slugs didn't stir the hearts of the prisoners, who shuffled their paws uncertainly. Brull sneered; they wanted their cake and to eat it, too. "If no one steps up, I'll just have to change some minds, and I don't think any of you want that."

After some worried looks were exchanged, a taller stoat with a scar on his nose shrugged and stepped forward. "Eh, why not? Felt like offing a guard or two, anyway."

Trying not to show his relief that he wouldn't be holding off the entire garrison by himself, Brull nodded curtly. "Glad t'hear it. What d'you go by, mate?"

"Scarnose."

Brull couldn't help shrewdly eying the scar on the stoat's nose. To which the stoat replied with a glare that practically said aloud, "I know. Don't bring it up." The rat obliged. "So that's two versus every other beast. Shall we go for three?" The Sheriff had seen brighter faces at a lynching. "Alright, mates, guess I'll just volunteer one of you." Of course, that meant finding some one in this rag-tag mob that didn't look like a spineless worm, or about to drop from sickness, and that didn't leave a whole lot of candidates.  
"You, Pretty-ears!" Brull pointed at a slender, handsome looking fox near the front of the crowd. "Consider yourself drafted."

The fox looked at those around him for support, and found a myriad of averted stares. Sighing, the draftee sauntered to the other dup. "That's what I get for being first in line, I suppose," he remarked fatalistically.

He didn't look like much, the Sheriff thought, but at least he was healthy. "Name?"

The fox gave a coy smile that, for some reason or rather, irritated Brull. "Keep calling me Pretty-ears. I like the sound of it."

Shrugging it off, the rat turned to the rest of the ungrateful louts. "Fine, now here's what we're going to do. You'll form a line, and then we'll…"

Adding to his infuriation, not a single beast was looking him in the eye. Damn it, he was talking! They should be paying attention! Not gazing wide-eyed at the door behind him. "Right, good work, we're gonna head out that door…" he gestured, pointing at the gap in the wall, where a confused looking mouse stood with a spear. "Oh."

The woodlander started to back away but this time Brull's instincts kicked in before it was too late. Catching the retreating rodent by the tail, the rat dragged him back with a squeak. "It's true! The prisoners have…" The crack of Brull's fist on the side of the mouse's head rang louder than his screams, and the guard fell in an unconscious heap. Outside of the hall, the audible noise of metal clanking and feet shuffling was starting to grow louder.

"All right, tea's over, let's go!"

The prisoners seemed eager to listen when it involved their own well-being. Another mass charge seemed to be forming until a harsh "Linez! Or no one leavez!" sounded. Thank Fates for Rekkua, Brull thought as he himself jogged out of the hall. At least he could rest easy knowing she had things under control. Strange, didn't think much of lizards before…

His thoughts were interrupted by a bright flash and a heavy "clang" noise, and for the first time in a long time, Brull fell to the ground in a daze. What in the blazes was that? The rat would like to know but a flurry of white lights hanging around his face was making that tricky. Something strange happened: he could feel his muscles tightening and perhaps just a tad more sweat than usual forming on his back, but he didn't know why.

Somewhere outside the haze, he heard a gasp of surprise (right over top of him? How long had some beast been there?) and a metallic punching noise, followed by a "Ha. Hee hee!" Scrabbling back up to his legs and leaning against what he assumed was a wall, Brull shook his head hurriedly; why wouldn't these stupid glowing things go away? He wasn't sure if blinking rapidly was actually helping, but the dots were at least starting to flit away, revealing a surprising scene. An otter with a gaping hole in his chest was laying on the ground, a steel shield with a dent in it fallen beside him. Looming over the dead body was a grinning Scarnose, holding the bloodied spear the mouse had dropped. "Hee."

"Ought to look both ways before crossing the street, Boss," Pretty-ears chided cheerfully. "How's the head?"

Brull groaned. "It'd take two of me to feel any worse." He barely had time to realize that the fox had called him Boss before a rumbling of paws started to assail his headache with renewed vigor. The hallway leading away from the prison cells was straight-forward enough: it looked like a giant letter T, with the route from the prison to freedom forming the top tier, and an adjoining hall forming the stem. Presumably, the latter was where any guards would come down. "Where's that noise comin' from?"

Pretty-ears smiled knowingly. "Right behind us." It seemed that the prisoners had finally gotten organized enough to start moving. "I can pick out some paws coming up from over there, though," he added, indicating the long passageway, where shadows were starting to form at the very end.

Grunting, and wishing more than ever for a drink, Brull picked up the fallen otter's shield. Gates, his head hurt. "Scarnose, give me a paw." The shield was more like a large sheet of metal, nearly as tall as the Sheriff. He presumed the dent in its otherwise unblemished surface was where he had hit his head. "Hold it sideways." The shadows at the end of the hall were growing heavier. "Now, run. Oh, and scream real loud, too."

The paw-ful of guards that appeared with faces of fury soon turned to shock as the howling metal wall charged into them. Brull was thankful his view was blocked as the makeshift weapon connected, hammering the bodies into the wall. The sound was akin to melons being crushed with a hammer. "Hee. How many we'd get?"

The Sheriff wasn't comfortable about the amount of fun Scarnose was getting. At least some beast was enjoying themselves. Gates, his head hurt. "Thought it was four. Didn't get a good look." Paws were aching from the recoil, too. "S'pose I'm not the only one with a bad head-ache now, eh?"

It wasn't much of a joke, but Scarnose seemed to appreciate it. "Hee."

Any further mirth was cut off by the sound of an arrow ricocheting off of the shield, sending both vermin scrambling back to safety. Hugging the side of the wall, Brull waited for the would-be sniper to poke his nose around the corner before grabbing the unfortunate woodlanders head, and with a yank, breaking its neck. "Heh… ain't so tough," he mumbled.

"Neither are you, rat!"

An otter burst from around the corner, tackling the rat and bringing both beasts to the ground. Stunned as he was, Brull had a hard time blocking the rain of fists descending on his skull. Why was everyone and their mother bent on destroying his head today? Without thinking of his own well-being, the Sheriff drove his claws into the otter's ears and delivered a savage head-butt, once again delivering a snow-storm of white sparks into his vision. "Dumbest thing I ever did…"

Once again, Pretty-ears dragged the rat back to his feet. "You need to stop doing that, Boss. I hear fists are effective as well."

Retaining some of his vision, Brull nodded absentmindedly. "Fine. How're we doing?"

"Well on our way to getting most of the others out. No one seems to want to mess with the lizard."

Good. Brull was glad Rekkua was on his side. "Lovely. Now, I think we have…"

A gurgling scream and another collapsing body brought the fox and rat to stare at Scarnose, with a re-bloodied spear, standing over a freshly slain squirrel. "Hee."

Well at least they didn't have to worry about being snuck up on. Picking up a discarded bow from the unconscious otter, Brull nodded to Pretty-ears. "Now, we have ourselves two…" The weapon snapped as the Sheriff gripped his fist too hard. "We've got one bow," he growled, hauling the broken-necked archer over, handing the weapon gingerly to the fox. "Any one pokes their whiskers around the corner, shoot 'im."

Checking the string on the bow and ripping the quiver off of the corpse's back, Pretty-ears nodded. "It's been a while, but I think I can still shoot nicely. Might want to get Scarnose out of the way."

"Hoy! Scarnose!" the Sheriff hailed the stoat, still diligently guarding the end of the hall. "Take a breather." The stoat seemed put out, but obediently shuffled over to the rat's side. "How many shots d'you got, Pretty-ears?"

"Enough for a party, not enough for a war. Fancy you should think of an escape plan before push comes to shove." He ended by planting an arrow in the chest of a hedgehog who had braved the corner, and fell to the floor.

Another plan on the fly? This was getting old. "Right give me… give me a minute or two." Strangely, the other vermin didn't seem concerned. Usually, beasts looked at the Sheriff skeptically, or worse, with condescending undertones. But Pretty-ears and Scarnose seemed practically… trusting.

Weird.

"How's it going, Mister Sheriff?" After the screams, sound of battle, and a splitting headache, Brull was surprised that it was the unexpected sound of Zula's voice that made him jump. The spectacled fox was staring up at him, completely oblivious to the danger they were in. Or maybe she knew, and her face just didn't show it. Really, it was hard to tell whether or not the young vixen was aware of much anything.

The calm in her voice was almost as distressing. "How's it going? I've probably smashed my brains to mush, we've got a bloody army coming after us… Why are you even here?! You should be escaping by now!"

Zula waved dismissively. "Oh, I'm not afraid, Mr. Brull. Thought I could help out. I've got a plan, see, and I thought it over, and I think it's okay."

Oh, boy. "That's… nice. But I really don't have time to listen how to catch flies, or whatever else it is you do."

"Oh." The vixen blinked owlishly, pondering this over, and then smiled at the Sheriff. "Okay, I'll save that for later. Can I tell ya me plan, though?"

Rubbing his brow, Brull nodded reluctantly. "Alright, fine. What d'you got, Zula?"

Clapping her paws, she explained. "Well, I'm not sure, but I don't think those guards would keep running over here like that if they were running somewhere else. So I found me a hole in the prison wall, I did, over on the far end. Think it used to be a window, but it got boarded up, pro'lly so no one could peak through it. Leads further into the tower. So I think, what if I slip on through and make a destrackion, an' then the guards'll be too busy to follow us?"

Brull had been prepared to dismiss anything Zula said. Indeed, he had even opened his mouth to sigh. But the sounds of dismay failed to appear as the rat's mind ran over what the young kit had said, and found, to his surprise, that the words that came out of his mouth were, "That… actually makes sense. Might even work."

Hopping excitedly, Zula dashed back off towards the prison hall. "Great! I'll make ya proud of me, Mr. Sheriff, sir!" she called as she darted back, shoving her way through the procession of escaping vermin.

"Wait! Hang on, Zula!" What did that feather head think she was doing? She could get killed! The rat paused. So she'd get killed. Why did he care? Just another dumb kid. Lots of them. Why get worried?

The vision of the young fox, ridiculous spectacles broken, lying in a broken heap with half a dozen arrows in her, resonated in Brull's mind. He felt a strange sensation in his stomach that he hadn't felt much in his life, and an unpleasant shaking feeling in his shoulders. _"Sheriff Brull's good at helping creatures."_ Strange thing to remember at a time like this. Brull wasn't sure what it all meant, but he there was no denying that for some reason or rather, he did not want Zula to die. "Oh, for the love of… Scarnose, Pretty-ears, hold the fort," he ordered as he lumbered in the wake of the young fox.

The line of prisoners had finally ended, now hustling back down the way the rescue group had come. Rekkua, still making sure that no one had tried anything funny, looked aghast at the Sheriff. "Why iz Zula running back? We muzt go!"

"I've got it under control, don't worry. Everything smooth on this end?"

"Few ztragglerz, but t'ey all moved in the end. T'e Martiez are leading t'em out. And you?"

"Well, we made the furballs nervous, so I don't reckon we have to worry about anything unexpected, and Pretty-ears and Scarnose have got things pretty well under control, so we shouldn't have company for a minute or two. But Zula said she had a plan to get us out of this in one piece, so she ran back."

Rekkua blinked. "Zula had an idea?"

Brull shrugged. "I've got a feeling there's more in that noggin than she's letting on. C'mon, let's see what she's up to before she gets herself killed."

The unorthodox duo hurried into the prison hall, where, without the masses of vermin to crowd its walls, it actually looked overly large. And yet, even with this expanded visibility, it was impossible to see a small, bespectacled fox anywhere in the room. "Where did zee go?"

"Said something about a hole." Couldn't have been a big hole, otherwise no one in their right mind would build a prison in this place. "Hang on, there's something over at that end." Closer inspection at the rear of the prison hall revealed a small duct carved into the base of the stonewall, with torn wooden planks cast onto the ground. "Gates, she can slip into this?" Brull marveled. "It ain't exactly spacious. Not even that snake from last night could get in their without holding her breath."

Rekkua didn't seem pleased with the idea that there was something a furred-beast could do that a reptile couldn't. "Iz not zo zmall." Kneeling down to the floor, the monitor peered into the hole. "Zula! Are you there?"

"Hello!" Rekkua leapt backwards as Zula's head popped out from the duct. "Oh, Miss Rekkua! I thought it was you. You sound more lady-like than Mister Brull."

Coughing, the Sheriff crossed his arms and tried not to look like he was glad Zula was still alive. "You do what you aimed to do?"

The fox tried nodding, but wound up smacking her chin on the floor, so she settled for a smile. "Yup, sure did. Didn't take nearly as long as I thought. Biggest thing was findin' out where I put my sparky-metal."

Brull blinked. "Sparky-metal… hang on, you mean a flint? What in blazes did you do?!"

"I found the place where they keep their grog, an' lit a few boards. Have y'ever seen what happens when those things get on fire? It's pretty neat."

"For the love of…" Brull's mouth went dry as the consequences of Zula's plan slowly dawned. "We… out… now! Move!"

With a strained expression on her face, Zula managed to wiggle two paws out of the hole, but stopped short. "Er, I don't think we can."

"Why?!"

"I reckon I'm stuck."

"Then how'd you get in there in the first place?!"

Zula bit her lip. "The usual way. Crawling. Wish I was a snakey now." Wriggling back and forth, she managed to inch slightly further out of the duct, though speed was not forthcoming.

They needed to get out before the place became a living furnace, and Brull knew it. What if the dim-wit was really stuck? There'd be no chance of getting her out. Better just dash. Saving his own skin was his priority, every time. "Rekkua, grab an arm, we'll heave her out." Without waiting for the monitor to comply, the hefty rat grabbed one of Zula's outstretched paws and pulled. The young fox squeaked unpleasantly, which wasn't made any better when Rekkua grabbed the other hand and added her strength to the issue. "How in blazes can a shrimp like you get yourself into so much trouble," the rat groaned.

"Not certain, Mister Sheriff, si-eeeeek!" Zula's voice became shrill as the wall released its hold on her, sending the whole group tumbling backwards. Laying on top of both rat and monitor, Zula grinned pleasantly. "Oh, lookit that."

"Gerroff!" Brull barked, rolling the vixen off of him. That last tumble had not helped his head-ache at all, and had, in part, maimed any sentimentality he had been feeling at the moment. That's why you don't get attached to goofy little twerps, he chided himself mentally. Ought to know better. "Right, every beast up, we've got second or two until the end of the world."

The young fox frowned. "But that hole put me legs to sleep. They're all wobbly, they are."

Brull glanced sideways at the rising Rekkua, who glared daggers at the rat before he could speak. "No! I am zick of carrying her!"

Sighing, the Sheriff picked up Zula like a rag-doll and tucked her under his arm. "You're damn lucky I like you, or you'd be dead ten times over." Hustling out of the prison hall, Brull yelled out to Pretty-ears and Scarnose. "Beat it, mates! We've done all the damage we can do!" The duo was quick to oblige, and followed the retreating group with the utmost speed.

A squirrel, cautiously looking down the hallway-battlefield, waved his fist at the backs of the vermin. "That's right, you run like the cowards you are!"

Then the world exploded in a flash of white heat.


	41. The Coldest Heart

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 39. The Coldest Heart**

_by Silisk_

A sense of impending panic hovered over the group of Brandy-hunters like a bird of prey, talons outstretched.

Silisk, remembering the way Dirano had been abducted, rather regretted having come up with such a comparison, and tightened her coils around Antonio's shoulders just a smidgeon. _Think of something positive,_ she ordered. _A proper Queen must be in control at all times._

According to the number of rustlings and scrapings in the foliage, it was clear that whoever was lurking about was, at the very least, not that mad wretch of an earthwalker, Castille. And Silisk was too rare and important a figure to be targeted. Antonio, being the larger and plainer of the two, would provide a more than serviceable shield in case fisticuffs were involved. As pleasant as the stoat was, the adder wouldn't think twice to dart away in order to avoid danger from a warm-blooded assault. And furthermore—

Silisk stopped mid-thought. She flickered her tongue out, but the only warmth she sensed was cradled in the bodies immediately around her.

"Harken to me!" Silisk's sudden hiss caused Rea to jump, and the wolf switched her tail in irritation as she and the rest of the group turned their attention to the snake. "Calm yourselves. Lo, these beasts in hiding are truly nothing to fear."

Sybil snorted, ears flat against her head. "Right," she scoffed. "Which is why they've walked up to us in plain sight and said hello."

Silisk's patience with the marten had already flatlined a good while ago. "Silence! I will explain henceforth." She rose from the stoat's head and glanced down regally at the faces below her. "These are not warm-blooded earthwalkers like you. I do believe we are fortunate enough to have come upon my servants."

The marten muttered something into the air about _fortunate_ but Silisk silenced her with a glare.

"Lizards?" Aras spoke up, looking wary. "You mean monitors like Rekkua?"

Silisk shook her blunt head. "Nay. Those lizards are wild and completely unfit. Fear not," she added tapping her tail idly against Antonio's shoulder. "I will make sure no harm comes of you. Perhaps we will finally find aid in our quest!"

"Come out, loyal servants! To me!" the adder bellowed.

Suddenly, the forest teemed with a bristling and shimmering of scales as two-score green lizards seemed to materialize against tree, bush, and shrub. The small creatures encircled the entire party of vermin. The earthwalkers shifted, and Silisk felt Antonio reach for his hatchet. In each tiny clawed hand was a crude spear, although they were really more like glorified sharpened sticks. There was a moment of awkward shuffling, and then one of the lizards stepped forward. "SiliskQueen? You backback?"

An anxious whispering slithered amongst the circle of lizards. Silisk merely looked down upon her servant. "Yes, it is I; safe once more. There is no need for any of you to worry anymore." The serpent flicked her tail dismissively. "Now, you will escort these earthwalkers and your Queen back to our camp post-haste!"

"Err…" The lizard fidgeted, claws scuffing the dirt.

Silisk bared her fangs. "Desist with your babbling at once and obey me, fool!"

"We gorra NewQueen."

The adder gawked. "…What?"

The small lizard looked quite sorry indeed, fiddling with his tail. "Scout Sitch see you get took by furrybeasts. He say you deadgone for sure."

Another lizard, the scout in question, stepped forward and nodded his head so quickly and eagerly, it looked as if it might have snapped off. "Yarar! Bangonhead and put in strange box, yississ!"

The first lizard shot Sitch a glare for interrupting before shrugging at the infuriated adder. "So, get newQueen!"

"Why—you—I—you…!" It took Silisk a moment before she could form her rage into something resembling coherence. "Hsst!" Rearing up to her full height, the regal serpant thrashed her coils; a hissing, writhing crown high atop Antonio's head as she spent her raged on all and sundry. "Infidels! Traitors, all! Fie on your wretched, black hearts! I should inflict you all with the deadliest of poison!" The lizards hung their heads and shifted anxiously as their dethroned leader continued venting her spleen. "If it was not for my guidance, you would be naught but the lowliest of paupers begging for scraps from those monitors! Fie, I say!"

"Huh! Fibba-lie!" The brave lizard who had spoken out shrunk back just a little as Silisk rounded on him, gaping mouth showing off her impressively curved fangs. He took a step backward from the looming monarch, and then continued, chest puffed out. "If you sogood, why you comeback with furrybeasts, eh eh?"

Silisk was about to deliver a stunning counter when she realized she was currently coiled quite comfortably around Antonio's neck and stayed her tongue. She had been so used to traveling this way that she didn't even think twice about it. "Well," she murmured, "you see, I'm afraid it's not quite like that…"

Another lizard bopped the first on the head with the butt of her spear. "Youbequiet! Stupaidjit!" She beamed up at Silisk. "OurQueen GoodQueen! Can you not see? She be goodspy! She bring back plenty foodslave for all lizards!" The lizard performed a little hopping dance, jumping from footclaw to footclaw. "Gogo! You chokim, killim now!"

The entire forest seemed to be alight with leaping, chanting reptiles. Silisk was suddenly very aware of the stoat's heartbeat. _Thump-thump._ It was so warm and constant and comfortable and she was suddenly overcome with the desire to break it. _Thump-thump._ All eyes were upon the serpent, reptilian and warm-blooded alike, expecting, waiting. _Thump-thump._ It would be easy, really. Silisk felt her coils tighten just the slightest, and there was a giddy rush as Antonio's heartbeat pattered just a little more franticly. _Aye, mortal. Know you the meaning of fear, and tremble._

_You're a good 'un, Silly. I like you._

Silisk frowned at the unwelcome intrusion. The rest of the world seemed to melt away, leaving Silisk alone with her thoughts and the ethereal vixen. _I like you._ The snake shifted her coils in irritation, willing the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach to go away. Surely she didn't care about this little scrap of fluff? And yet…

It was rather nice to be liked.

The image disappeared, evaporating into mist with a sigh and Silisk let her coils slack, glaring at the expectant lizards. The adder did not want to be Queen to such foolish, simple-minded oafs. Her plans were far grander; infiltrating and gaining the trust of a group of earthwalkers and then the possession of this brandy. After all, Silisk was destined for much greater things than to be only a Queen of lizards.

"Away with ye!" She snarled. "I—"

A sudden influx of jingling and jangling causing the rest of the Brandy troupe to start.

"What the 'Gates is that ruckus?" Sybil gritted, pinning her ears back.

Almost as in response to the marten's question, a strange procession stumbled its way through the trees. Hoisted up by a mob of lizards sat what was undoubtedly the new Queen. The smug-looking monarch was literally covered from head to whippy tail tip with as much of Silisk's horde as possible. So bogged down was the reptile with charms, necklaces, and rings that they clinked and clacked and clattered with any and every moment, down to the smallest of claw flicks.

Silisk could only stare. The new queen was, in fact, Whipscale, the decidedly male captain of her guard.

The serpent's desire for slaughter grew about a hundred times in one second.

Meanwhile, it was obvious that Rea and Aras were trying to stifle their laughter as much as possible. The new Queen looked at the furred beasts from beneath the adder's horned crown, which was much too big, with an overbearing amount of regal indignation. "Tressypassers! Why they not killdead yet?" He drawled at the circle of lizards around him.

"Whipscale," Silisk ground. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, hello groundworm." The lizard smirked in a particularly greasy, noxious manner. Silisk twitched. "It is Queen Whipscale, now!" The monarch nearly pitched forward as one of his tired litter bearers shifted, and he offered the unfortunate servant a good tail-whipping.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Silisk raged, hoarse from yelling. "You cannot be the Queen, you ignorant little blister!"

The lizard pouted, crossed his arms. "Whynot, eh?"

"First of all," the snake sniffed, "have you any idea of what a proper Queen is? You are not the least bit qualified. For many, many a reason. Secondly," she stabbed the air with her tongue. "I am the only Queen! Me! Silisk! While you," she hissed venomously, "are little more than an insignificant dust-speck, a putrid vile stupid beastly knave! Lay down this mockery at once, or I'll strike you down where you stand!"

"You notboss of Queen!" Fire leaped in Stillclaw's eyes, and he jumped to his footclaws, treading on the backs of his servants as he waved his bejeweled arms all and sundry. "No more talk! Gettem! Killem all!" the lizard shrieked.

There was a moment of apprehension. It seemed that none of the lizards seemed particularly keen on attacking a band of strange, exotic furred beasts and a poisonous adder. The tension was broken as Thalliv, who decided to do something decisive, fired off his crossbow. One of the lizards fell back with a gurgle, clutching at the bolt lodged in his throat, and then spears bristled in a ring around the earthwalkers as the rest of the lizards surged forward, shrieking and hollering. Aras drew back a massive paw and sent a coilful of the beasts soaring with one mighty stroke, clearing a path. "Move!" He growled.

Silisk, burning with rage and helplessness, clung to Antonio's neck as the ragged group fled deeper into the trees, the tiny savage lizards hot on their tails.

After a good deal of running, the lizards gave up the chase and the group of Brandy Hunters trailed to a stop, panting and heaving. Rea had asked if they'd gotten lost, but Silisk imagined they probably just got bored and gave up. _Blithering buffoons,_ she inwardly sneered. _Idle-minded fools, all. I'm glad to be rid of their lot for good._

Antonio's voice brought the snake out of her sulking. "Well, that worked like a dream," he quipped. Thalliv tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. "It appears as though we are not going to make much more headway tonight, seeing as it grows dark. I cannot read your thoughts, but I imagine you are about as fond of the idea as getting attacked by savages in the middle of the night as I." The stoat paused for only a moment, and Silisk could nearly see his thoughts arranging themselves in neat little lines to be delivered to his mouth. "We will set up camp here, and one of us will keep watch throughout the night. I will begin, after scouting the area beforepaw."

Rea stepped forward. "I'll come with you," she said, and Antonio nodded in response.

The group disbanded, making up camp. Silisk sighed, shifting her position; there was nothing for her to do. "I suppose I will claim the second watch after you," she hissed close to Antonio's ear. The stoat winced, and then nodded.

"Very well." A pause. "Would you like me to set you down?"

"I can do that myself, thank you," the serpent huffed. Without any other words, she slid off the stoat's neck, across his shoulder and onto the welcome limb of a tree, scales rippling and shimmering in the early twilight.

Huddled on the bough, the snake coiled and curled into a miserable ball, feeling absolutely horrid in every way imaginable. Her scales bunched against a cool gust of wind, and she hissed at it for being in the way.

"Hey."

Silisk's head shimmied out from beneath her coils, and she peered inquisitively at the wolverine who stood beside her. Aras blinked, as if struggling to find the right thing to say. "… why didn't you attack us?" He narrowed his eyes. "The strongest beast in the world would have powerless against poison. You could have regained their trust."

"I know that," Silisk snapped. The serpent did her best to copy the careless shrugging that she'd seen the earthwalkers do, although she imagined it didn't quite work. "I… well. I could not bear to be with such beasts any longer." She dipped her head, letting the regal persona slip off her back like a heavy cloak. "I suppose I never truly belonged with their kind."

Aras nodded his great head. "That's what I thought." He sighed. "I know that feeling well." For a moment, the wolverine's eyes darkened and Silisk found herself about to ask him more when he returned to normal. "Don't be discouraged," he offered. "You're a good beast, Silisk. You don't need a stupid git of a lizard to tell you that."

Silisk had a question lingering on the tip of her tongue, but Aras had already began trudging off and so she kept it to herself. A sigh escaped the ruffled serpents lungs as she turned her attention to the first star that twinkled into sight.

Why did sentimentality have to be so _bothersome?_


	42. I Don't Want to Hurt You

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 40. I Don't Want to Hurt You...**

_by Antonio_

"Miss Rea?"

The wolf's ears perked.

"Might I enquire as to something?"

She nodded, although she did not much appear as though she wanted to answer a question. Antonio began to notice the group responding rather begrudgingly to his instructions of late. Perhaps it was time to change tact.

"If you do not mind, there is something of which I am curious. However, I do not wish to make you at all uncomfortable."

Rea shook her head. "Not at all."

"When you touched me back at the warehouse, what did you see?"

Apparently, "not at all" minding a question did not apply to those pertaining to visions. Rea jerked her gaze away from Antonio, her ears lowered against her head.

"I'd rather not…"

She trailed off, leaving Antonio to pick up the slack.

"You said that you had visions and, even though you yourself do not believe in them, and even though I myself am…skeptical at best when it comes to matters of…supernatural quality, it his wise to give a healthy dose of respect and consideration to folklore. Though misguided, certain elements of primitive beliefs are rooted in truth." He stepped closer to the wolf for good measure. "Though your 'vision' previous may not have been that, it divined the position of those wasps."

_Not to mention a certain kernel of information I have kept hereto concealed_.

Rea had called him a Prince. At first, Antonio believed he may have let it slip his tongue earlier, but he was more careful than that. He did not make mistakes when it came to his identity. He had learned from experience what sort of things happen in his homeland to a royal who wears his title over his heart – he soon has a blade driven through it.

"I am merely curious as to whether or not you…divined anything else important, back at the warehouse when you brushed against me. I assume that was what caused your sudden change in temperament?"

"I saw…I saw a small child. A boy. He was crying."

Antonio's lips spread across his face and he nodded. "Why, though, were you sorry?"

"I'm sorry about your father."

His mouth opened. The question died before he could so much as formulate the words in his mind. Instead, his attention focused on the loud sound of impact just behind him. The stoat and wolf turned.

Staring him down at the other side of the untidy clearing was the beast that had threatened his entire group, personally insulted him, captured and no doubt – probably – killed one of his own, had set a booby trap into which he had almost fallen and had decided to continually menace he and his group.

Antonio organized his resources in his mind in a second. He had Rea and a hatchet. Only Rea and a hatchet. He closed his eyes closed his eyes. What he was about to do was foolish, unplanned and irrational.

"Retreat."

"But –"

"I am fully aware of your stance as far as violence, Miss Rea, and I would prefer it if you were not around to witness what I am about to do. Retreat, gather the others with haste. I shall hold him off to the best of my ability."

Antonio heard her retreating pawsteps, the tattoo of a battle hymn as his blood began to boil. Rea would be no help in a fight and while she would make a good distraction to throw to Castille, Antonio knew it was not the right solution. Aras was outwardly dubious about the contract, Sybil's quips grew ever sharper. Silisk had nearly killed him. He was falling from power and the stoat didn't care to meet whatever was waiting at the end of his descent. He had to do something to restore his follower's faith in him.

The pile of sinew, scum, grit and fur at the opposite end of the clearing cackled. "So the prissy prat who doth protest decides to parlay. Pray, what caused the change in heart? I thought you found me rather putrid."

"Silence!" Antonio snapped. "Calling _you_ putrid would be kind."

Antonio had more than few scores to settle with Castille – _Castille, what sort of a boorish handle was that? Probably does not even properly know how to spell it_. For one, he had personally insulted him, then proceeded to defy him when challenged. That alone merited corporal punishment. For another, he had spread discord through his group. Untidy rabble as they were, his group was still _his_ group. And there was the Dirano to consider. Who may or may not have been dead.

"A simple, smug, sly accountant, hm, feeling a bit small, perhaps?" the beast prattled on. "So it would seem, yes, so it would seem."

Insanity had less a look and more a smell. Or rather, if it did have a smell, it would have been something quite similar to the aroma that wafted heavy as an anvil from Castille. A sickly, organic smell that reminded Antonio of war rooms and sport competitions, mingled with sweat, tiny yet pungent notes of urine and bodily waste of all kind, tied together with the stiff metallic scent Antonio had trained himself to recognize at age ten.

"Or, perhaps something more, yes?"

Antonio remained firm as the madbeast babbled, something else he had learned early on. Castille would make the first move and Antonio would reap the opportunity.

"Perhaps…a Prince?"

Antonio went rigid.

"You heard the mad prattling from that wolf, no doubt," he answered. "Tisk, tisk; did your mother not tell you it is rude to eavesdrop?"

A smile gleaming like the crescent moon – and just as yellow – split open Castille's face. "Mother told me lots of things, oh yes she did. So noisy was she before I cut a hole in her throat and let all that sound drain out in little red bubbles. But mother also told me it's rude to lie." A spear-point finger extended in Antonio's direction. "I think you are hiding something from me. Come now, does the Prince not wish to live up to his honorable handle?"

"What would you know of honor, hiding behind booby traps and plucking helpless beasts into the air? Afraid to face me in combat?"

A paw clasped Castille's chest as though clutching a wound. "Sir, fair Prince Antonio, you wound me! Attack a helpless beast, me? Far too enjoyable, the way they wriggle and writhe like babes before the steel pacifier is plunged down their throats. Dear dead Dirano was far from helpless. Such lovely little toys he had." His head suddenly tilted at a dangerous angle. "One wonders why he did not feel like sharing. Oh well. His soul may be gone, but I did him a tribute in his death. His possessions are being put to good use."

Silver flew through the air, giving Antonio barely enough time to throw himself flat on the ground, roll to his side, pull himself in a kneeling position and brandish his hatchet. Moving a top speed, he caught the marten in the stomach just as he was attempting to re-load his crossbow, sending both himself and Castille sprawling. The stoat swung the hatchet, scoring only soft dirt as he was pushed off of Castille via the blow to his face.

Antonio quickly regained himself, got to his footpaws. _Keep a low, defensive posture,_ he reminded himself. Just as he was taught. Castille charged, brandishing a knife while Antonio kept himself still, springing at the sable's knees at the last moment. Both of their weapons were sent flying. On the ground, they shoved against one another. Here a blow was struck to Antonio's gut, there a kick was scored against Castille's ribs. Room for a good submission hold or choke could not be found. But there was no difficulty in finding a pawful of dirt. Flinging the grit at the monster's face, the stoat rolled for his weapon, bringing it down across Castille's midsection with viscous abandon. Thus exited Castille.

Or so Antonio anticipated. Upon further inspection, he realized he had struck against Castille with the blunt end of the hatchet. Upon inspection further than that, he discovered that Castille could take a hit from the blunt end of a hatchet quite well. The sable also had a right hook strong enough to send the stoat staggering a good six feet backwards.

Grit and blood exited Antonio's mouth before words. "Why follow us?"

Castille was on his footpaws now, gripping his knife. A direct attack would not be the preferred approach. He would have to wait and see if he could distract or otherwise disarm Castille. His best weapon now was his voice. "Lonely, were you? I can imagine it would become quite tedious to have only one's self to talk to, especially were I as boorish as you."

"Lonely? I am never lonely. Those lonely lovers of company, always longing for the touch, the taste of another, those aren't the kind for me. Someone more like…dear dead Dirano would be more of that particular persuasion." Although Castille did not look or motion in the direction of his dropped weapon, Antonio was sure the marten was planning on retrieving it even as they spoke. "Such a lonely beast, Dirano. Lonely to the end. He cried out to his friends as he was pulled _faaaaaaar_ into the ceiling, tata, flying cat, adeu, how sad it is to say farewell to fair-weather friends." A filthy claw stroked a scraggly chin. "Now, what were his last words? I was far too busy tending to the mechanism, such a fussy thing it is. What was that last thing he said before he was hoisted into the sky? Perhaps our precious Prince could enlighten us?"

"I heard nothing," came Antonio's prompt reply. He had not heard a thing, Dirano had whispered so. The booby trap was making far too much of a racket. Antonio had not heard a single, solitary syllable. Not one.

Castille shrugged. "Pity. Such a good guest he was. Treated me to a drink. Such a grand gesture when all mine is turning to ash…but as they say, cats are fat but Brandy is dandy." The mad expression upon Castille's features clashed with the eerily cheery tones of his speech as he approached Antonio, step by step. "You and I, we look for the same thing."

Antonio took a few steps back to compensate. Every cut in the hatchet's handle embraced his palm as it tightened about it.

Castille continued to babble. "Search, search, search, it is not there, it is not here – oh _dear_! Just a drop, and my problems would be clear. But, should I need a bit of a pick-me-up…" With a flick of his wrist, the marten procured a second blade. "Care to make a donation?"

Damp potato sacks make a distinctive 'thud' when they strike the ground, much like the sound Castille's body generated when it struck the ground, bowled over by a sprinting Aras. As he retreated behind the wolverine, Antonio saw the rest of his group come into view.

"Stay close, spread out," he ordered.

"How d'you expect us t'do both of those at the same time?" he heard Sybil quip.

Before he could return verbal fire his attention was stolen from the nuisance thief by loud gasps. Aras stood, paws clenched around his throat, spine twisted back at an odd angle. Castille was blocked from view but Antonio had a clear idea what was happening. The hatchet was quickly seized, becoming a grey blur as it was rushed over to Aras. One swing and the metal cord was severed, Aras saved from asphyxiation.

"Touché," announced a voice from all around them. "Now we play a new game: hide and run!"

"Come along, this way," Antonio commanded.

"Pray, sir Antonio, where are we bound?" asked Silisk.

"We are off to make good on a prophecy. Miss Rea, you shall join me at the head of the procession."

Moments later, although the time span would have been at least half a moment shorter had the natives been civilized to provide some sort of path through the wretchedly overgrown jungle, Antonio's ears picked up the correct sound. He looked at the wolf.

"Miss Rea?" he asked, letting the sentence hang as its own question.

She nodded, Antonio reciprocating the gesture in kind.

"Very well," announced the stoat to his team. "Over yonder is the wasp nest upon which we happened earlier." He pulled them all closer, talking in a low, conspiratory tone. "When Castille appears, we shall fall back to a place near that nest, putting it between us and Castille. Then, Mister Thalliv will shoot said nest down and the insects shall hold the marten off long enough for an escape, provided they do not outright kill him from their collective poison which would not at all be an undesirable bonus."

"That won't work," said Aras.

Antonio forced himself not to roll his eyes. "Yes it will."  
"Psh, no it won't!" piped Sybil,

"Yes, it will."

"Pardon me, but perhaps there is some sort of alternative?" asked Thalliv.

"There is," Antonio conceded. "But it is much less desirable than my plan and the end result would be one in which we are all considerably less alive than we would be if we followed my plan."

Then, from above and all around, dancing towards them in a grisly sing-song, "_Little, little, little ones, run and run, run and run. Little, little, little ones, I am going to have some fun!_"

Antonio nodded to them all. They broke into a run towards the wasp nest.

"_Little, little, little ones, which one should I take, oh, which one_?"

He could see the nest just behind them now, hidden behind a tangle of emerald and chartreuse. Further behind, something hit the ground.

"Mister Thalliv, would you kindly shoot the nest down now."

Metal struck metal, the bold was released. It hit nothing.

"Such a lousy shot!" Castille clicked at the back of his throat. "Yo-hooo! I'm over _here_!"

Somewhere further along, somebeast continued to run.

"He's getting closer."

"I can see that, Mister Aras."

"Pray, why do we not flee?"

"Because, Silisk if we run no, then there is no end to the running." _And he could certainly catch up to us on foot unhindered._

Closer and closer he padded, walking now, not the slightest sign of worry on his face. Thalliv struggled to reload his weapon, his trembling paws making it difficult to align the metal bold with the proper mechanisms. Antonio's legs took a step back involuntarily.

"How long does it take to load a crossbow, Mister Thalliv?"

No answer.

"Mister Thalliv?"

He was two steps away from the midpoint. Any more and the shot wouldn't be worth taking. Nervous feet betrayed Antonio, pulling him further back. Another beast had already begun to flee. He brandished the hatchet at his side.

"Why so still? The game isn't nearly as fun when you don't play along."

A loud crack, a hollow sound like some great, fleshy balloon cracking open, followed by mad buzzing at their ears. Castille became a twisting, gyrating blur as he strove to shake off the angry yellow clingers-on. Laughter and shouts of victory joined the sable's pained gasps and yells. They all soon found out that wasps' rage was not exclusive to any one beast, however.

"Yeowch!"

"Ow, ow, ow."

"Retreat now, re-ow, _damned insect_! Retreat!"

Jungle ground harsh upon his footpaws was only made worse by their hasty retreat. Large rocks stubbed sensitive skin and tiny pebbles wedged themselves into small spaces, rubbing against and lacerating tissue. Antonio would take that over the harsh poison sting of the insects, though. The pain their retreat incurred must have been nothing compared to what Castille was suffering. At any rate, Antonio had suffered far worse before.

Ahead loomed a figure barely discernable amongst the jungle vegetation. A jarring shock hit Antonio. He raised his hatchet, ready to deal a quick blow least it was Castille. The path was soon clear, though, and gall rose in his throat when he noticed who it was standing stark still in the middle of the jungle like a daft idiot.

"Miss, Sybil, make haste! Behind us is –"

His arms wheeled around and around like a pups toy top. Antonio's stomach jumped to his chest as he felt his footpaws teeter at the threshold, striving to pull his body weight back to where gravity would favor him. Miss Sybil had in fact not been standing still in the middle of the jungle for without reason; bellow him, now visible that he was right upon it, was a deep chasm.

The earth bucked to one side. As green swirled and began to change places with blue, Antonio Calceterre was occupied with a solitary thought; the horizon was crooked.

His plunge stopped. The stoat's claws had twined themselves around something thin and leathery. Soon, he found he was not the only beast falling. Antonio had grabbed Sybil by the strap of her back pack.

A brief return to non-gravity, a sudden jerk and Antonio feared that his arm would be ripped from its socket. Above, the marten clung to the edge of the pit with both paws. Bellow…

Antonio averted his eyes. There was nothing interesting to look at.

Although his brain strove to will his strength into her – were _he_ dangling over a chasm with himself caught on his own backpack strings, he would have pulled both his own weight and that of his doppelganger's out in mere moments – Sybil continued to hang onto the edge.

"Help, please!" he shouted. "We require assistance!"

The call went unanswered for an agonizing eternity. Soon, the marten began to shake herself.

_Good, she is trying to pull herself out. Finally._

The jungle was silent save Sybil's soft gasps. Then another sound joined them, so soft, so deliberate it reminded Antonio of the cottage and the fire bombs so seemingly long ago. Glass was rattling against glass. His eyes were pulled to the backpack's opening as a glossy texture peeked out of the darkness, a dark liquid contained within. Sybil turned back to see where the noise was coming from. Antonio was given a brief look at one fearful eye before the shaking began again, the marten fervently trying to pull herself up.

"Some help, please. Would somebeast kindly remove us from our eminent peril?"

A violent shake from above nearly dislodged Antonio from the pack.

"Miss Sybil, would you please…" He trailed off. Sybil wasn't just trying to pull herself up.

Another shake nearly accomplished what Sybil had set out to do, reducing the number of claws hanging onto the back pack strap from five to three. His forearm, nearly dislodged from its joint before, came dangerously close to doing so again as they traveled slowly up. Thank –

Glass flashed from out the pack, the soft tinkling met by a whispered curse from Antonio. The bottles sent small refractions all around as they tumbled out of the bag, into the darkness.

_Fates!_

Aras hefted the stoat and marten onto solid ground.

"Has he stopped following us?"

Antonio did not answer Rea. He did not know. All he could think of was the glass flashing, flying, falling.

"He broke off some time ago," announced Thalliv.

"Thank Siren!"

Sybil stood just at the edge, exactly where she had the misfortune of standing when Antonio had blundered into her.

"Very well," he heard himself say. "We should continue on. Miss Sybil, if you would."

She did not move. Antonio stepped closer.

"Miss Sybil?"

Her eyes bore into that abyss as though paws stretched from them, trying to reach into that darkness and take back what was stolen. Antonio paused a moment, his eyes wandering to a loose thread at her shoulder.

"Miss Sybil…I owe you my life. Were you not there, I would have –"

For all the criticism Antonio viewed her with, Sybil was actually very strong. The stoat was nearly bowled over as she pushed past him, dashing into the greenery to sulk.

"I shall go speak to Miss Sybil. She has been through a trauma."

He gave Silisk a small nod before he walked after Sybil.

She had tried to kill him. That badly dressed, scruffy, wise-cracking urchin had tried to kill him. Yet, he had not been lying before; she had saved his life, even if she had endangered it not a moment later. Furthermore, her own life had been on the line in that her antidotes would have been lost – _were_ lost because of him. Antonio had a kind of begrudging respect for wanting to look out for one's self. If anything, his life was far more valuable then hers, but her reaction was…understandable. At least that was what he continued to tell the ever gnawing frustration in his breast.

Matters did not much improve when he found he tread much further than anticipated without meeting Sybil.

_Stupid girl. Why go this far only to sulk?_

Antonio froze as he trod upon something. He did not have to look down to find out what it was. The familiar, copper smell was already wafting into his nostrils. Turning on his heel, he began to walk back to his group, then run, then sprint. Four pairs of shocked eyes focused on him as he exploded from out of the thick cover.

"Mister Thalliv was mistaken. Castille is closer than first expected."


	43. We're Going Down

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 41. We're Going Down**

_by Sybil_

"Tada!" The blindfold was ripped off her face, though it didn't make a difference in this dark, sad excuse for a shack. She thrashed against her bonds, clenching the gag between her teeth.

"Now, now. Don't try to hurt yourself there." Despite the poor lighting, she could still see the faint outline of a beast pacing around her. He must've been enjoying the fact that she was in such a difficult position- tethered to the table with her head dangling over the edge. Despite this difficulty she managed to crane her head, glaring daggers at him.

"Please don't be mad at me," he said in an almost-reasonable voice. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't need to. I need my good blood, you see."

_Think... Think, Sybil!_

The marteness shook her head violently, her shouts suffocated by the cloth between her jaws. The lunatic's eyes went wide as he cupped a paw to his ear, leaning close to her nose. "I'm sorry. What was that? I'm afraid I can't hear you, no I can't."

"Mmmmmmmffff! Kmmmph!"

"Something important, you say?" He chuckled to himself as he tugged the gag from her mouth, allowing her to take a deep gulp of air before she explained as quickly as possible.

"Can't kill me. Poisoned. Sarkleyet. For Brandy. I-"

"Too fast, too fast," he tutted, clamping a firm paw over her snout. "Much too fast. Can't be good for your health, jabbering and all out of breath like that."

The captive shook her face free from his grip. "Yeah, you say that right b'fore ya kill me!" Her frown softened ever so slightly. "And 'sides, I got information you need."

"Information, you say? Oooh, ooh!" He pulled up moldy chair and leaned forward eagerly. "I just love a good secret, yes I do!"

"I know all about the Red Brandy," she lied. "I- I know everything there is to know 'bout it. Sarkleyet tol' me." The sable chortled snidely at that and she swore she heard her jaws clack against each other as she withheld a frustrated bark.

"I'm supposed to be finding it," she continued, her voice still shaking. In all her life of thieving, there was never a need to smoothen lies. She never had the time nor care to swindle anybeast face-to-face.

Instantly, Castille's face sparked with recognition. "Lovely Lady? The Lovely _Lying_ Lady? Tsk. Pity. Thought you sounded prettier before." He began to pull the dusty cloth up over her mouth before she said one more thing.

"I _am_ poisoned," she managed to mention, allowing her strained neck to relax so that her head dangled upside-down over the table. "That bastard Sarkleyet poisoned me. You want to drink poisoned blood?" she challenged. "Do ya?" She watched from her pathetic position as the sable stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"And I can tell yew all about the others," she added quickly. "You want the Red Brandy, don't you? You're going to have to get past them first a-."

"Liar," he interrupted in a high-pitched, scolding voice. "Lying traitor. You look healthy and seem fine. And to betray your friends? Tsk, young lady! Tsk, I say!"

"Yeah? Well I 'ave your proof! I've got antidotes in..." _Curse you to Hellgates, stoat. If I get there 'fore you, I'm going to strangle you the moment you set paw._

"Yes?" Castille asked smugly, rotating his wrist in a gesture to continue.

"You wanna know about the others, right? I've got more'n enough information on that lousy bastard stoat."

"Not interested." He lifted his paw, a dagger delicately handled in his palm. "You can't trust liar's blood, you understand. Besides, a challenge is so much fun!" Even though all the blood was rushing to her head, she could could feel her face drain as she noticed a rusty old bucket right below her head.

"W-wait! Wait a second! No!" The marten curled her chin into her neck, kicking futilely against her bonds.

"Now, now," the killer hushed as he grabbed her ears and tugged downwards so that her throat was fully exposed. "You'll hardly feel a thing."

"No! _PLEASE!_"

There was a tiny nip at her throat.

Sybil stretched her jaws wide in a scream, but nothing came out. She couldn't hear anything except for the metallic _drip-drip-drip-drip_ of the blood in bucket. It was all in dark snippets of shadow, turning her head and gasping like a fish out of water. Her throat felt cold. She tried to cry out for help. For the wolf, the stoat, the snake, the wolverine, and even for Momma and Papa.

_No. Not like this. Not like this._

The marten had always thought her death over. It would've been easier to follow her parents to allow her life to go on. She always thought she'd die of old age or suicide; never in the hands of some deranged lunatic. No. She was far too smart to fall prey to something like that.

_"Why can't we go home?" the girl whined. "Why did Momma have to go get a baby anyways? I don't like this shack. Why do we have to- ugh!" She toppled to the ground, clutching at the cheek her father had back-pawed._

"We live here and that's final," he roared, throwing his coat to the ground. The marten cringed, cowering away to a corner as he cursed profusely and paced the tiny little area. Sybil clutched her knees against her chest. He had been like this ever since Momma got sick. He tried to pay for her medicine and he lost their shop. They lost everything all because of a stupid whelp? Momma was dead, Papa was drunk, and her life was turned upside-down all because of one stupid, tiny little thing?

"But it's not fair!" The moment the last word left her mouth, she realized her father was unpacking a clay mug.

CRASH

__

She ducked down, shielding her head from a shower of debris before getting to her paws and bursting out the door. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's not my fault... That's right. It ain't my fault._ She stopped running, glaring balefully at the pathetic little shack that was now their home. _If Momma were here she'd know what to do. She'd tell me what to do.

Sybil's glassy eyes stared up at Castille as he cleaned his dagger, humming casually as he monitored his precious bucket. There must've been a noise, because his head jerked up, his lips curling to a smile as he brandished his dagger.

"Stop what you're doing, blaggard!"

"A guest!" the sable said brightly, waving his blade in the air. "Drinks are on me!"

"Get your disgusting self away from her this instant!"

Castille grinned, parrying an attack from the stoat. There was a struggle, but she couldn't see from her angle. Instead she found herself staring at an empty ceiling, the dark room echoing with the strike of metal; she could even feel the table shuddering and making her head sway as they continued to clash.

"Leave them alone!" Sybil blinked at the new voice. It sounded familiar. So irritating. _The wolf?_

"And that's my cue to leave," came Castille's voice.

Suddenly the table shifted as Antonio's back collided into it. She erupted in a pathetic coughing fit, bubbles of red dribbling down from her neck. The stoat turned to her, his eyes widening at her condition.

"Miss Sybil..." He bared his jaws and snapped his attention back to the retreating creature and running after him. "Miss Rea, please tend to Miss Sybil. I am going after that bloody, cowardly wretch."

"Sybil! Sybil!" Something large and blurry obstructed her view. Her head was lifted up and her body was moved so that her head could rest on the table. "Sybil, hang in there! Hang in there!"

_Hang..._

_Sybil didn't come until three days later and it was already the middle of the night. She had to admit, she handled herself decently in the streets- much better than she thought she would, but when her coins ran out she knew she had to come home. The marten knew Papa would be mad at her for stealing his money, and her paw faltered at the rusty doorknob. But then she remembered when he went to buy some cabbages and took her entire coinbox without asking. Her resolve returned, she shoved the door open._

The place was pitch as black and terribly quiet. Sybil stood at the doorway, trembling as her eyes traveled from the rickety floorboards, to the toppled chair, to her father's dangling footpaws.

"Is she alright?" How typical. A stupid question from a stupid beast. If she had the strength, she would have slapped that Thalliv twit.

"Hang in there, Sybil! He's gone," the wolf said. "You're safe now. Antonio's got him on the run and we'll catch him so he can't hurt you anymore."

The marten's chest heaved harder and harder as her gasps grew weaker and weaker. The wolf stopped fumbling through her medicine pack and covered her eyes with a massive paw.

"There is naught else we can do except to end her pain." Sybil clenched her fists. Even with the darkness overcoming her vision, the marten could see the coiled figure beside her head, the slitted pupils staring intently at her. _Already thinking about killin' me, filthy worm? So this is it? And that freak called _me_ a traitor..._

"No. We can't. I can fix her," the wolf insisted, her eyes watering. "I can."

"Foolish prattle." Despite the words, there was no harshness in the snake's voice. "Thou hast a kind heart, earthwalker, but there is naught but suffering left for this one. Best to end it now, and quickly."

"No, no," the wolf said with a stuttering breath, shaking her head and staring at the hopeless cause before her. "We abandoned the cat. We can't do the same to her."

"She's dying, no matter what you try. It's the least we can do." Sybil tilted her head slightly, her half-closed eyes looking up at the blurry shape of the wolverine standing over her.

"S-Sybil, I'm so sorry. I can't help you anymore," the wolf said, leaning closer and raising a trembling blade, only to falter when Sybil managed to draw one more tired, shallow breath. _Oh, get it over with, wolf. I'm done for._

"I can't," she said, as if reading her thoughts. "I can't do this. I can't do this," Rea sobbed, dropping the knife to the table as she clutched the marten's warm paws. The wolf raised another paw as if she was going to stroke Sybil's head comfortingly, only she held back, afraid that doing so would inflict more pain.

"If you can't do it, then allow me," a voice rumbled from above. Sybil could only watch through darkening eyes and painful sips of breath as the wolverine bent slightly over her body, grasping her head between his massive paws.

_...eight, nine, ten..._

The girl leaned over the bridge, screwing her eyes shut as she hoped gravity would take over. But nothing happened. Her paw still clutched at the wooden beam. She breathed out, steam breezing through her clenched teeth and into the snowy night air.

One more time,_ she told herself as she swung back, preparing for another attempt. _This time on the count of five. If nobeast tries t' stop me, I do it. For real this time.

__

One. Momma and Papa are gone. They left me behind.

__

Two. It's winter. It's too cold and I'm sick of stealing pennies for bread.

__

Three... She paused, staring at a ferret that bustled right by her.

Four. I'm standing here in the cold'n'all alone. Nobeast sees me... nothing cares.

__

Five.

Sybil swung forward, trying to pry her claws off the wooden beam, but she couldn't do it. She just couldn't do it. She didn't have the spine. Slowly, she pulled herself back in, her shoulders slumped as she stared down at the lazy black water below.

It wouldn't be so bad, would it?_ She licked her lips and shook her head, jamming her paws in her hole-ridden jacket as she walked off the bridge, the wind tugging playfully at her thin scarf._

That was a mistake. She should've jumped.

It would've been so much easier than growing up all alone in squalor. She would have never had to watch that smug rat Brull get promoted while cooped up in a jail cell. And most of all, she would have never arrived on this island.

If she knew this was how it was going to end, she would have jumped. She would have forced herself to fall into that black, sluggish, freezing river.

Sybil took another slow breath. Everything felt light, as if she could suddenly float in the cooling air. It felt almost like falling asleep.

At least, it would've been like that if the wolf wasn't latched onto her paw and making such a fuss.

_It's not so bad..._

She gave Rea's paw a tiny little squeeze before she let go.

"I'm sorry," the wolverine intoned.

_Snap._

_end of week three._


	44. Wild Packs of Family Dogs

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

start of week four. 

**Chapter 42. Wild Packs of Family Dogs**

_by Zula_

What a rush! Zula was still laughing uproariously as they fled through the streets of Evnara. Behind them, the building that served as the Felldoh's Heirs' prison had erupted into flames. Suffocating dark smoke billowed into the twilit sky.

This was, without a doubt, the most impressive fire she'd ever started.

When they felt they were a safe enough distance away, Brull halted them, plunking Zula back on her footpaws while the rest of the escapees caught their breath. The vixen's giggles trailed off at a rather stern look from the rat.

"What were you thinking, Zula? You could've killed us all!"

"Iz not a thing t' laugh at," Rekkua agreed, scaly arms folded across her tattooed chest.

The vixen shrugged, grinning. "Worked, didn't it?"

Brull had to concede her that. "Well, yes, it worked extremely well, much more'n any plan I'd thought up. But...but that's not the point!"

"Y' mean my whelp did that?" Nelda Higgins cried, pushing her way rudely to the front of the group.

The smile died on Zula's lips. The young fox stared at her grimy footpaws; she found it was much easier than looking her mother in the eye when she was this livid. If only she could figure out a way not to have to hear Nelda's shrieks as well.

"Zula Higgins, _what did ye do_?" Nelda demanded.

"Lit s'm barrels in th' cellar," the vixen mumbled.

Nelda's eyes bulged apoplectically; she raised a paw and opened her mouth to unleash what was certain to be a tirade like never before, but Rekkua cut in, "Pleaze! Not zafe here. Muzt keep moving! Be angry later!"

"C'mon, everybeast, the Oasis is this way," said Zula, but she flinched at Nelda's snarl of disgust.

"I am _not_ goin' t' that hellhole."

"Then stay here an' rot!" Brull growled.

What was Mr. Sheriff doing? Zula wondered. Nobeast talked to her mother that way and got away with it. Sure enough, Nelda stalked forward, her nose inches from the rat's. Brull looked rather surprised at the vixen's aggression but stood his ground, his beady eyes narrowed fiercely.

"If you think I'm about to go crawlin' to that disgustin' place," Nelda said tersely, "you've got another thing comin'. Y' don't understand, sir, I hate that vixen with every scrap o' me. If word got out I'd set so much as a claw in that place..."

"It's like I said," Brull insisted. "If you don't like it, stay here an' rot. We don't have time for your stupid rivalry. Come on!"

The group carried on down the street. Zula gave her mother an apologetic glance. Nelda glowered at her, but followed her daughter as she trotted to catch up with the rest of the escapees.

~

Though the former prisoners had split off into three different groups after their initial escape, it appeared that Brull's group was the first to arrive at the Oasis. Zula had never been allowed to set foot in the place, of course, but she couldn't help but notice how nice it looked. It was a big stone house with steps leading up to the front door. It just looked...nice. Zula couldn't think of a better word for it. None of the flashy, lurid décor like the Golden Brush. No beasts made to stand outside and lure males inside. Zula sighed at the thought. But then, of course, that could just be because nobeast was home. Still, it did not make any attempts to stand out from the other buildings around it, unlike the Golden Brush, whose flaunting colors attracted beasts to it like the proverbial peacock.

Zula heard her mother give a disgusted snort. Clearly she was not a fan of the peahen motif.

Brull and Rekkua made their way up the stairs first. The former tried the door, but it was, as Zula had suspected, locked up tight. Rekkua tapped the rat's back with a claw and motioned for him to step back. Bracing herself, the big lizard slammed her shoulder into the door. At first, it shuddered but stood firm, but on the monitor's second try it burst open, revealing a glimpse of the dark interior.

The escapees trudged up the steps and into the Oasis, whilst a few beasts scurried about to getting the lamps lit. Before long a golden glow revealed that they were in a sizable entrance hall, though there were several rooms and a set of stairs leading to a second floor.

"What do we do now?" a ferret asked.

"For now we sit tight," Brull answered. "Wait for the other groups t' get here. Er, make yourselves at home, I guess?"

Zula felt her stomach give a massive rumble, and it was only then that she remembered she hadn't eaten since breakfast at Sarkleyet's. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to be hungry in all of today's excitement. As far as her priorities went, food was a matter of deepest importance.

Slipping away from the group, Zula soon located the kitchen. She poked her head into the pantry, which wasn't terribly well stocked, but it looked like there would be enough to keep them going for a while. Filling her arms with as many vegetables and herbs as she could carry, Zula plunked them down on the counter and began chopping them. Dumping them into a big pan filled with water, she made a couple more trips back to the pantry until the pot was full. Taking her flint and tinder from her vest pocket—and grinning at the thought that this was the second time they had come in handy today—she lit a fire beneath the stove and soon had a hearty stew simmering.

By the time she came back out to the main room, the other two groups had arrived, but Brull and Rekkua looked worried.

"And you're _sure_ you never saw her?" Brull asked a weasel from one of the other groups.

"Nope."

"Er." Zula cleared her throat. "Soup's on!"

Brull looked up from his conversation, surprised. "Soup?"

"Aye," the vixen said. "I made us some soup, Mr. Sheriff, Sir! I only 'ope there's enough t' go round."

Rekkua chuckled. "Zo t'at iz where you went."

As beasts filed into the kitchen for their supper, Zula hung back with Rekkua and Brull.

"What's wrong?" she asked them. "Is it Miz Pearl?"

"Well, that," said Brull, "but we sort of knew she wasn't gonna be with us right away. It's Pearl's kit, Sandy. We've searched and asked around but nobeast's seen her."

Zula patted the rat's arm encouragingly. "Ah, don't worry, Mr. Sheriff, Sir. Sure an' I bet Miz Pearl's on 'er way here right now with Sandy!"

The rat gave her the faintest of smiles. "She'll be fine," he said, but it looked as though he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

He started for the kitchen but paused. "Oh and, er, thanks for dinner. I didn't know you could cook."

"'Twas m' pleasure, t' be sure," Zula said, grinning. "Me mam an' the others kept themselves busy all th' time so sometimes I 'ad t' cook fer all of us."

The stew turned out to be quite a hit, and afterwards the escapees settled in for the evening, relaxing and discussing their narrow escape earlier and the state of things at Evnakt. Zula had gathered up all the bowls, mugs, cups, and whatever random receptacles beasts had found to eat their soup out of, and was just tottering into the kitchen with the first lot of them when she noticed she wasn't alone.

Nelda stood at the sink, gazing out the window. Every so often she swigged something from a bottle. Zula didn't know what was in those types of bottles, as she was forbidden to drink from them, but all she knew was that she never wanted to find out. Whatever it was, it made beasts act strangely. It made her mother _angry_. And still she drank it. How could somebeast keep drinking something that made them so mad? Zula never understood it.

Zula set the bowls on the counter next to the sink, and Nelda jumped, finally noticing her daughter's presence. The older vixen's amber eyes were slightly unfocused, her brow furrowed.

"What d'ye want?" she growled.

Zula took a careful step backward, twisting the hem of her patched skirt nervously. "Nothin', Mam."

"This's all yer idea, wasn't it?" Nelda slurred. "You were th' one that decided we should come 'ere. T' this dump."

"Mam, it ain't a dump," Zula mumbled. "It's ni—"

"It is not nice!" Nelda barked, slamming the bottle down on the counter. "How many times 'ave I told ye? We don' associate ourselves with th' Oasis whores, _ever_."

"But why, Mam? Miz Pearl is nice. If it weren't f'r her we couldn't 'ave saved ye. Y' should get t' know 'er."

As she said the words, Zula felt a rather unpleasant twinge somewhere in the realm of her stomach. She had not even expected to find her mother there, waiting to be rescued with all the rest. Part of her almost wished she hadn't been there at all.

A part which grew exponentially when her mother's pretty face twisted into a rather ugly scowl.

"I will _not_ get t' know 'er," she growled. "She's an amateur, a has-been, a disgusting little tart." Nelda snatched up the bottle, tilting it back to drain the last of it.

Zula frowned defiantly at her mother. "I think she's nice."

The vixen jumped as her mother threw the bottle to the floor and it shattered all around their footpaws.

"Zula Higgins, if y' so much as talk back t' me again I'll give y' the tannin' o' yer life! Upstart little wretch!"

"Everything okay in here?"

The foxes turned. Brull had poked his head in the doorway and was eyeing the shattered glass curiously.

"Everythin's fine," Nelda barked. "I was just 'avin' a word with m' daughter b'fore y' interrupted. I'd keep yer nose out o' me business if'n y' know what's good fer ye."

Brull glared daggers at her but obviously could not think of a reason to overstay his welcome. He retreated, muttering, "Next time I'll just save half of 'em," and shut the door behind him with a snap.

Zula watched her mother resentfully as she rummaged around in the cupboards, looking for more to drink. At last she emerged with another bottle. She yanked the cork out and guzzled a good amount, swaying slightly on her footpaws. She set the bottle down, and only then she seemed to notice Zula hadn't gone.

"Look at ye," she sneered. "Daughter o' Evnara's finest courtesan, with big fat glasses an' all covered in rags. Am I s'posed t' be proud o' that? Why do y' even wear that thing?" she asked, jabbing a claw at her faded green vest.

Zula's face flushed with heat. "Mam..." she whimpered. "How can y' even say that? It's...it's his."

"Oh?" Nelda cackled. "An' I s'pose y' reckon y' can bring 'im back with it?"

The words stung Zula so badly she put a paw to her mouth. Nelda's callous, drunken sneer was more than the young vixen could handle.

"No, Mam," she said slowly, hot tears springing to her eyes. "I know 'twon't bring Pa back. Y' made sure o' that."

Zula heard the smack before she felt the pain. Her mother's claws had scored deep into her cheek. She staggered backward, treading painfully on a glass shard. Rubbing at the blood trickling down her face, she stared up at her mother, eyes wide with agonized horror as Nelda grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

"Yer a filthy liar!" she shrieked.

"B-but Mam," Zula sobbed, tears pouring from her eyes. "I saw y' do it. I know 'twas you."

"Liar! Worthless child! Get out o' my sight!"

Nelda flung her in the general direction of the door. Zula stumbled out, shutting the door behind her. Perhaps she was just hearing things, but she could've sworn she heard the faint sound of sobs coming from the other side of the door.

"Zula? What is it?"

Brull hurried over, looking alarmed at the blood on her face. Zula quickly wiped it with a sleeve, wiped her eyes with the other, and put on what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"N-nothin', Mr. Sheriff, Sir. Just tripped, that's all."

"She hit you?"

Zula limped to the nearest sofa and flung herself down on it. "Please, Mr. Sheriff, Sir. Just drop it. It ain't worth it."

Brull looked angry. "Want me to hit her back?"

Zula looked up at the rat, pleading quietly, "Drop it. Please."

Brull did not look at all comfortable about the matter, but he sighed. "Okay."

Zula wiped away a stray tear before it could escape her eye and fixed a smile on her stinging face. "R-right, so. What's our next move, then, Mr. Sheriff, Sir?"


	45. All in the Family

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 43. All in the Family**

_by Brull_

Didn't make sense, having someone hit you and not wanting them hit back. Gates, with the attitude that vixen had on her, Brull would have done the job for no reason at all. But then, Zula didn't seem to have the same common sense of most beasts. Probably didn't know what was best for her. "What's our next move then, Sheriff, sir?"

No idea. "I've got some ideas," the rat mumbled, trying rapidly to put things together in his mind. He really needed a drink. Ought to look for some later. Must be something in this place. "S'pose we should wait for Ms. Pearl to come back."

Zula looked confused. "So you went and found her an' did y'tell her to come here?"

Oh great, she had her brains rattled from being struck. And Zula probably couldn't afford to have her brain rattled too many times. "How could I? We ain't seen her since she went off with your otter buddy, and we only thought to come here afterwards."

"Then how's she gonna know where we are?"

Then again, Brull had smashed his head on a metal sheet, so who was he to judge? "That's... a good point," he ended lamely. How was Pearl going to find them? Who even knew if she was alive? They had lit the building on fire, after all. "I'll think of something. By the way, have you seen a little fox hanging around here anywhere?"

Scratching her nose, Zula smiled. "Yup, I saw one, looking right back at me when I was makin' faces at the soup pot. But me mam says that's just me. Don't know how I got there, what with me bein' here an' all."

Surprised at his own patience with his youthful ward, Brull sighed heavily and rubbed his brow. "No, I mean a really young fox. Pearl's kid, what's-his-name, Sandwich."

"Oh! Nope."

Damn. Where'd they put him, if he wasn't in the prison? They had broken out enough disgruntled beasts to form a small army, but without finding the kid, the job was only half done. And Brull hated half-done jobs. If you were going to do something, better to do it perfect and not worry about something going wrong later on. Not to mention Pearl would be crushed. Better find Pearl. "Right. You go and do whatever it is you do when you're not doing something else."

"Y'mean catch flies with a pan?"

"Sure."

Brull watched as Zula padded happily off to find some flies to trap. Before turning the hall corner, she gazed back at the rat. "Oh, and Mr. Sheriff, sir? Please don't hurt me ma. She doesn't know what she's doin', sometimes. Doesn't hit me all the time, 'onest."

Oh, she knows what she's doing, any beast but Zula could see that. "I won't touch your adorable little mother." Clapping, Zula vanished. Wasn't natural, not wanting revenge. It wasn't that hitting in general was wrong; it was usually the best way to get your point across. The thing that bothered Brull was that Zula was totally oblivious that she was being abused. Ought to be a law. Some big-headed matriarch beating up on the little-guy, just because the victim didn't have the guts to do something about it.

Zula might have been a porridge-brained little twerp, but she was his porridge-brained little twerp. She actually seemed to like him, which didn't happen very often, and he wasn't sure why he should care now, but would be damned if the only fan he ever had was going to get smacked around like that. Funny, didn't care much for other beasts opinions before. But then, no one had seemed to like him before.

Brull's head hurt. He needed a drink. Better find Pearl. Where'd Pretty-ears go?

He found the handsome fox, along with Scarnose, lounging out on a balcony, overlooking the street. Looking up at the Sheriff, Pretty-ears nodded in acknowledgement. "The triumphant commander returns. Is everything settled, boss?"

He called Brull "boss" again. The almost unconscious straightening of his back was unnatural, but pleasant. "Settled as can be, with who-knows-how-many escaped convicts crammed into a house, with the Feller's Hairs probably in hot pursuit."

"Got any plans for what's next?"

Everyone wanted to hear Brull's plans. It was both annoying and strangely flattering at the same time. Especially because most of the previous day had been spent with beasts telling him to keep quiet. "Nothing yet, but I'm working on it. 'Sides, who knows if the lot downstairs is going t'listen to anything I tell them, anyway?"

"They all followed you here, didn't they?" Pretty-ears pointed out with a wink. "You broke them out of prison. Might be some of them are grateful and want to return the favor."

The Sheriff had long since learned to be wary of flattering words, and he still wasn't sure if he trusted the fox. "And why d'you listen t'me, Pretty-Ears?"

The fox shrugged. "Maybe I'm grateful and want to return the favor. Maybe I've got nothing else better to do. Maybe it's your charming personality, dashing good looks, and the likelihood that you could break my head in if I say no."

The Sheriff hoped it was the foremost reason. Having beasts being grateful would be nice. It was high time that some noticed Brull was saving them. "Hurm," he mumbled. Giving orders and being listened to; what a concept. And why shouldn't they listen? He was saving their city, wasn't he? If they wanted their freedom, they'd better start listening to him. Needed a plan, though, and Brull couldn't think of one. "Pretty-ears, I've got a job for you, if you're interested."

The fox nodded. "What'd you have in mind?"

Feeling more confident with this show of obedience, Brull continued. "A friend of mine, Ms. Pearl, was in the headquarters we just left. I need to know if she made it out, and I want you to go stake out the building and see if you can find her. She's roughly middle aged, a little on the tall side..."

"I know what Pearl looks like, boss."

Brull blinked. "How could y'know what she looks like if you've never met..." Catching the coy eyebrow the fox was giving, the rat coughed and skipped the description. "Just find her and lead her back here."

"And if she's dead?"

"Well, then y'don't need to lead her back, do you?" Dumb question. Hoped Pearl wasn't dead. "And if you're caught, well, I reckon you know how to get out of trouble, don't you?"

Grinning with shark-like teeth, Pretty-ears got up to leave. "I'll find some old clothes. Ought to be some around here. No one will think much of another street dweller lying around." And with that, he left the balcony.

At least that had been dealt with. Groaning, Brull lowered himself into an oddly large chair. Strange that a chair this comfy was out on a patio. Usually they were behind desks, where the up-and-ups talked back to you. Like the Earl used to do. Now, that had been a nice chair. Just the place to command from. Remembering the grandeur of the cat's manor, the rat clawed at the arm of his chair, removing some of the ancient downing feathers. Bit shabby. Not that regal at all. And yet… gripping both chair arms tightly and crossing his legs, Brull leaned into the soft back-cushion and crossed on leg over the other. And inexplicable shiver ran up his spine. Looking over the rooftops of the city in his commanding chair, like something a king would do from his throne. Ridiculous thought.

Nice to think about, though. Never really came up, being a king. There were some lengths even Brull didn't dream of on the scale of authority. Would be nice, being able to boss others around without having to actually fight them. Especially when you got old, and couldn't fight anymore. Guess that was the appeal the Earl and Sarkyelet and the rest of them got off on. Like Nelda, reckoning Zula should shut up and listen.

Ought to do something about Nelda. Brull frowned. He'd love to shove that vixen's nose right down her throat. Heh, wouldn't be the oddest thing she'd had down her… Coughing, the rat scowled. So he had promised Zula he wouldn't. So what? It wasn't like he'd never broken a promise before. And Nelda had it coming, that was certain.

"Hey, boss!" The Sheriff blinked, remembering suddenly that Scarnose was still here. The stoat was smiling happily holding up… oh, Great Fates, he had a bottle. And not some hackney clay grog bottle, no, this was made with real glass! The liquid inside was clear, not muddled with dirt and grime, and yet had just the right consistency to ensure a pleasant travel down one's throat.

It was, beyond a doubt, the most beautiful thing Sheriff Brull had seen in this whole cursed island.

"Found this in one o' the ladies rooms," Scarnose went on, clearly unaware of what he had uncovered. "Tried a bit, but it's not really my type. You want I should chuck it? Hee."

"No!" Brull lurched unceremoniously forward to stop his henchman from disposing of the treasure. Cradling the alcoholic beverage in his claws, the rat tried to regain his composure as he leaned back into his chair. "I'll take care of it, Scarry," he explained, taking a delicate sip of the liquid. The wonderfully familiar bitter taste caressed his tongue, massaged his throat as the smooth liquor meandered it's way to the rat's tummy. Screw the ladies of the night; this was the best comfort a beast could have in a house like this. "Oh, bloody Gates, I needed that."

"Glad y'like it," the stoat nodded.

Taking another euphoric sip, Brull tried to think of any possible way to extend his gratitude to the stoat. Luckily, given what he knew of Scarnose so far, that reward wasn't hard to come up with. "Scarnose," he mumbled, forming a plan in his head. "Seems that the older vixen, that Nelda, doesn't think too highly of our efforts to save the world." Leaning back into his chair, Brull took another swig, the dulling effect of the booze having no effect on the sharpness of his sense of vengeance. "How'd you like to convince her of the wisdom of being on our side?"

"Hee."


	46. You're So Cold, But You Feel Alive

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 44. You're So Cold, But You Feel Alive..**

_by Aras_

_The elders of the village had explained things very kindly to Aras' parents, once upon a time; they had explained it politely, albeit severely, to Narkus when he'd come of age. By the time Aras' turn rolled around, they'd barely had the civility to be terse._

These were the rules here in Borassa, the towering shadows had said. Follow them.

If wolverines were going to be permitted to live near the village, the ring of stony faces had proclaimed, they would be subject to certain limitations. The Circle was not, after all, the wilderness it had been during the days of Gulo the Savage.

They had hurled a litany of regulations and fiery commands at the young wolverine, all of which boiled down to one basic premise: Hunt birds. Or fish. No beasts that could walk, no beasts that could talk. No exceptions, no excuses, no tolerance, no kidding.

At the time, the entire lecture had seemed superfluous. Narkus was the provider, not him. Of course, that was before Narkus had decided to cut Aras out of his share.

-~=~=-=~=-~

A slightly older, exponentially wiser Aras sits beneath a tree, pondering these rules and regulations. What he is about to do is highly illegal, and probably very immoral. He was about to eat flesh. Not the flesh of bird or fish, but that of a sentient beast. If he is caught, the repercussions will be swift and violent.

Aras doesn't care. He has recently gained a particular disdain for their meaningless restrictions. Laws could not stop him from doing anything, all they could do was punish him after the fact. They are nothing but pretentious commands, their authority derived only through the fear of reprimand. And Aras is in a place with nothing left to fear.

No. No fear, out here in the wilderness. He is hidden away from everything, here in the shadows of the pine boughs. The snowdrift covers him up to the neck, perfectly hiding him from sight.

The hares will be returning soon, he's sure of it. They wouldn't dare try to weather through a night of bitter cold like this. Yes. They'll be back soon. His life depends on it.

It feels like an eternity since Narkus cast him out. Aras can still recall the horrible predatory twinkle in his older brother's eye as he issued that ominous statement. "I'm tired of sharing my kills with a lazy sack of entrails like you. From now on, little brother, hunt for yourself."

Aras had never been able to get the hang of slings or archery, and the streams had long ago frozen over, trapping all of the fish in an icy cocoon. "But what if I can't catch anything?"

"Then you'll die," Narkus had said simply, to a chorus of snickering from Tysen and Liartes.

He had tried to do things the council's way. The next day, after he'd finished his duties with Yuell, Aras had immediately set off with one of Narkus' old practice bows and a quiver of arrows. Hiking out to a clearing in the woods, the wolverine marked a weathered oak tree as his target. The first shot missed, kicking up a spray of white powder; the second was lost to a tangle of scraggly bushes.

Aras fired again and again, shooting that stupid flimsy bow until his fingers burned. Every arrow missed the mark, either hissing wide into the scrub or plunging downwards into the snow. When he'd gone to retrieve them, he could only locate five. Further hunting in the scrubs turned up three more, but one had cracked all along the shaft. That made seven.

Seven bloody shots to forestall starvation.

Aras snorts bitterly beneath the tree, burying himself deeper into his cloak. He doesn't need the bow, not tonight. Ten claws will achieve what seven arrows could not. Ten frigid, shivering claws will bring him life.

But if the claws fail, he will die. No doubt in his mind. The snow and ice have sapped him of almost everything. He has just enough energy left for one surprise attack, and the outcome of that attack will determine whether he lives or dies.

And here they come, a pair of greyish blurs materializing out of the twilight.

Aras struggles to keep himself from moving. Hares run far too quickly; spooking them would be the literal "grave" mistake. The wolverine can feel the warmth of anticipation spreading through his veins as the hares draw nearer, each fateful step syncing up with the excited beat of his heart.

Closer... closer... closer... Wait. The feral hares sniff the air, puzzled. They sense something amiss. Timidly, confusedly, they continue forward on tip-paw. Aras' claws tense, anticipating their chance to tear into succulent flesh. Five more fateful steps. Four more. Three.

Two steps. One.

Like the tolling of a fateful bell, the lead hare takes the final step. Aras inhales, tenses, finds his footing...

Snow sprays everywhere as the wolverine explodes from the snowbank. The smaller hare's face was splattered first with slush, then with blood as his companion caught a claw to the neck.

The stricken hare gurgles and collapses, clutching a paw to its throat. The little one hesitates briefly, before instinct spurs it into action. Too late. Caught mid-stride, the runt sprawls into the snow, his skull crushed.

Hours of cold and days of starvation spawn a rumble deep within the wolverine's core. It erupts in a cavernous roar of omnipotent triumph.

He pants, savoring the victory. There will be food tonight, probably for several nights. There will be life, spawned from these deaths.

The tall hare is still alive, struggling to force breath through its torn windpipe. Aras lumbers over to the fallen creature, and grasps it about the jugular. The hare struggles feebly, spilling blood onto Aras' paws.

Only now it is not the hare, gurgling to death in his grasp, but Sybil. Despite the gash carved across her throat, the marten screams.

Aras' eyes snapped open.

The harsh white and red of his dream were gone, replaced by a cacophony of black and jagged silver.

The jungle. Night.

He was dying.

The wolverine's breath came in ragged, choking spurts. There was no rhythm to them, no sense. No sense in any of this. And it was all, strangely, okay. The deep reserves of emotion had bled out, leaving him only a numb sense of melancholy foreshadowing. He was at the Threshhold.

He'd named it that the first time he'd experienced it, in the snowbank underneath the pine tree, in that instant when first he'd realized the _simplicity_ of it all.

All of the "what ifs" had been silenced, all of the possibilities and futures stripped away, leaving only one graven dichotomy. That was the Threshhold. The place where the body possesses only enough energy for one final, last-stand shot in the dark. If that shot misses, it's okay, because there's no room left inside for despair, only a grimly liberating acceptance of the inevitable consequences. If that shot _hits_...

Aras grunted, easing himself upright. He needed to eat, or die trying. And he knew exactly where to find a freshly-buried body. He staggered off, into the trees. Towards Sybil's grave.

His throat burned, from where Castille had tried to strangle him. Sybil's had burned, too. It had felt as though it would sear his paws. He could still feel the warm, pulsing jugular, the marten's haunted eyes full of pain and condemnation as he'd... done the only thing he could do. Killed her.

No. He hadn't killed her. He had merely ended her life.

It wasn't his fault. He'd told himself that, over and over again. Castille had murdered her. Almost murdered him.

The sable was going to die. It would be a contradiction in terms to say that nobeast had the stomach to screw with a wolverine, but it was entirely accurate to say that nobeast would do it twice. That vendetta energized him, kept him going. The sable would taste _delicious._

He now stood over the mound, his last words to Sybil still ringing in his ears. "I'm sorry." He had said it. More importantly, he had _meant_ it.

Sybil deserved better than that. Nobeast deserved the long helpless death Castille had sentenced her to, bleeding out their life in breathless agony. She deserved better than to have her body torn apart for a meal.

But that was the curse of the wolverine, wasn't it? To go slaughtering and slashing his way through the world in order to statiate the horrible demons within. Memories didn't fully substantiate it; it was something he knew, just as he knew the fury of the blizzard and the sting of the frost. It was in his blood.

Yes, Sybil had deserved better. So did he.

Life wasn't fair. He began to dig.

The earth was cold, and Aras' claws began to shiver. The wolverine gritted his teeth and continued scraping the muck away. The roar in his stomach intensified with every pawful. Sweat beaded on the wolverine's forehead, running into his eyes. Still he dug, unable to stop himself. He needed that meat. He wasn't ready to die. Not tonight.

Finally, an eternity later, he unearthed a patch of matted fur. With hope burning in his eyes, Aras continued on with renewed vigor. The blood would be chilled in the veins by now, the meat would be cooled. But this was no time to be particular. Saliva dripped from Aras' fangs.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," said a hauntingly familiar voice. _Silisk._

Aras froze, as a thousand pathetic excuses whirled about in his mind. His heart throbbed, feeling as though it would explode within his ribcage. He didn't dare turn around.

This snake's scales rustled against each other as she wove sinuously through the grass towards him.

Aras gulped, trying to force air in through his nose. A tremble arose in his core, causing the wolverine's entire body to vibrate. He felt as though he might shake himself to pieces. He couldn't turn, couldn't bring himself to face the serpent's condemnation.

The rustling stopped, and Silisk peered down into the grave.

"Good. You haven't consumed any of the marten's flesh. It would have gone very badly for you, if you had."

"I..." Aras attempted, the lie withering before it could escape his lips. What could he possibly say? She knew. She knew _everything._ That he was a carnivore, and that he had desecrated Sybil's grave to forestall his own starvation; that if push truly came to shove, he would kill and eat any of them just to keep his own utterly selfish self alive.

For a brief moment, he considered killing the snake. He could snatch her up, and snap her in two, and no one would ever be the wiser. Except, if Silisk had already figured it out on her own, she had probably passed the word along.

"It would be a horrible shame if her poison was transferred on to you, Aras."

The words hovered around Aras' mind for a brief while before piercing the fog of his shame. "Wait, what?"

Silisk looped around, her slitted pupils shining in the moonlight. "The craven Sarkleyet infected her with a foul venom ere we embarked on this venture. The poison's effects would doubtlessly be transferred to you."

The implications of the snake's words rushed him like an avalanche. Aras grasped his head, trying to make sense of things.

"Sarkleyet poisoned her?"

The serpent nodded. "It was his way of ensuring Sybil's fealty."

Aras felt hollow, deflated. Having this meal here – _right under his nose_ – and then being unable to eat it... It crushed him. Noting his morose expression, Silisk added, "I am disgusted by it, too."

"No, it's... more than that," Aras sighed. The honesty, so long overdue, felt strange and foreign upon his lips. "I need to eat, Silisk. I haven't had a proper meal in as long as I can remember."

"Then you may well be in luck, Ikaras. As I recall, earlier this eve the detestable weasel slew one of my former minions with his crossbow. Unless the cowardly wretches have attempted to retrieve the corpse, it should still lay where it fell. I shall lead you there, so you may eat."

Aras was aghast. This felt like some colossal practical joke. "You're actually... okay with that?"

"Indeed," Silisk smiled. "It is an apt punishment for such a wanton display of treachery."

"But, you're _okay_ with me... eating meat?" The words tumbled from his lips with the gravity of boulders. Saying it out loud seemed, in a way, to erase those last clinging shreds of denial.

The serpent started at him curiously. "Why shouldn't I be? I myself have consumed the flesh of other creatures."

"Doesn't that... worry you, though?"

Silisk's tongue fluttered in puzzlement. "It isn't as though you've attempted to eat _me._ And I believe that if you truly intended to do such a thing, you would have, long ago. Now, if you truly wish to consume your repast before the others wake, I suggest we make haste."

Wolverine and snake picked their way through the foliage, with the former's head spinning dizzily. This was not how things were logically supposed to end up. He'd been expecting revulsion, avoidance, and unbridled hostility. Silisk, however, seemed to be completely unfazed.

After what seemed an eternity of numbly tramping through the blackened undergrowth, Silisk spotted the lizard's corpse.

It lay where it had fallen earlier, Thalliv's bolt sticking from its chest like the mast of a wrecked ship. The reptile's body was crusted with blood.

Aras' heart began to pound again. "Silisk..." he tried, faltering. "Would you mind... er..."

The adder nodded sagely. "I shall afford you some privacy."

Aras watched until the snake's tail-tip disppeared into the shadows before approaching the corpse.

Pebbled skin shredded apart like rent lace, exposing the tender flesh beneath.

=~=~=~=

It was hardly the burst of ecstacy that he had felt that this, his first true meal, would be. Poetic moments, he reflected, rarely were. But, it was filling - Oh! So filling - and compared to the leafy abominations he'd been surviving on, it was a royal buffet.

As the lizard's blood mingled and merged with his own, Aras could feel a delightful vigor surging through his veins. The wolverine clenched his dripping claws, feeling the long-dormant warmth and strength slowly beginning to bloom again.

A satisfied smile tugged at Aras' scarlet-soaked lips. For the first time in this perpetually tragic saga, he felt that he had finally reached an oasis of normality.

The wolverine glanced at the savaged carcass. He had eaten. His secret had finally been revealed. The guilt and shame would haunt him no more. And now, there was going to be one _hell_ of a reckoning. The fetters of Sarkleyet's machinations would hold him no longer.

He had been stupid, he realized, to ever be threatened by the marten. Felldoh's Heirs had imprisoned him already. They already knew about him. Red Dusk knew about him. The hares knew about him. Presumably, the rest of the Brandy hunters knew the truth as well.

So, what would he do? He would go back, and he would tell Sarkleyet to find the Brandy by his stupid, delusional self.

No. Wait, scratch that. Sarkleyet had the Red Dusk backing him up. Open hostility was a suicidally foolhardy notion. If the marten was truly to pay for his actions, it would have to be through more subtle means.

Or... through a greater might. Major Calderon would surely leap at the chance to cripple his main adversary. Of course! If he told the hare about the Brandy, about everything that Sarkleyet had done, then the whole thing would be in the paws of the Long Patrol.

Unless of course, the Patrol failed. In which case, Sarkleyet would be venomously hunting for the defiant traitor who'd brought the hares to his doorstep.

What Aras truly needed was a way to convince both sides of his loyalty, while simultaneously freeing himself to side with whichever faction was currently winning.

Reality broke in for a moment. Did Aras honestly believe he could deceive the heads of two major factions? Astonishingly, non-sensibly, he did. The method, a masterpiece of elegant simplicity, would take him less than a day.

He turned, called for Silisk. They needed to get back to Evnakt, as quickly as possible. Of course, Antonio would hem and haw, and dither about, but the ermine could get bent. Aras would leave him behind, if it came to that. The time for contracts and principles was done. They needed action.

Waiting would only cause doubt, and there was no room for doubt. This plan would work. It had to. If it didn't, they were all dead.

Perhaps he was being foolish. Perhaps the fresh infusion of blood was leading him down a path of suicidal hubris. He didn't care. He was going.

Aras was done being a minion.


	47. Scarlet Letter, Scarlet Cord

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 45. Scarlet Letter, Scarlet Cord**

_by Pearl_

Well I recall his parting words  
Must I accept his fate  
Or take myself far from this place  
The dark of night was swiftly fading  
Close to the dawn of day  
Why would I want him just to lose him again  
We'll rise above the scarlet tide  
That trickles down through the mountain  
And separates the widow from the bride

_Stellaris curled up in the luxurious captain's bed and listened for the cabin door to open, and then the sound of pawsteps crossing the room, and then the shift of weight in the bed beside her. Troaz loved her. She knew he did. He called her his pearl. But the young vixen knew immediately that the calloused paw that caressed her arm did not belong to the captain. She gasped and rolled over to find herself staring into the face of the first mate, a weasel named Half-tooth._

"Now don' ye worry, missy. Ye jus' be still an' quiet an' let ol' Halfy 'ave 'is fun."

"NO!" Stella backed away from him as far as she could on the bed that was built into the wall of the cabin. "Go away! Leave me alone! Troaz'll kill you for this!"

Half-tooth laughed, a sound which mingled with the laughter of other beasts. They were looking through the still open door of the cabin. And there with them was their captain. He wasn't laughing like the rest of them. He looked solemn, angry, but he closed the door and left her to her fate.

One after another they came, it must have been half the crew, the vixen stopped counting after the first three or four. At first she struggled, screamed for Troaz, but her voice became horse and her fighting, useless.

Finally when she had given up hope, a strong paw came and lifted a rat off her by the scruff of its neck. "Out! She's had enough!" The captain threw the steersbeast out and locked the cabin door. He went to his desk and sat there with his head resting in his paws.

"Why did you let them do that?" she asked in a small and frightened voice, nothing like the usually loud, boisterous alto that had entertained creatures all over Mossflower country.

"I'm the captain. It's my ship. I can do whatever I want," was his harsh reply. It didn't sound like he wanted this at all.

"But I'm carrying your kit."

Pearl awoke, if she had even been sleeping, as the visions of seasons old events faded into the present. She tried to move only to find that she was tied paw and footpaw to the bed - Marcion's bed. The squirrel was sleeping in an armchair across the room.

She had been so stupid to think that he would just deliver Sandy to her as soon as she gave herself up to him. He didn't even seem to know that the kit was in the custody of his soldiers. He would continue to take what he wanted until he got tired of her and then he would have her killed.

The vixen only hoped that her distraction had been enough to allow Rekkua, Brull and Zula to get the captives free. Maybe they had Sandy with them, too. Pearl let this thought encourage her. Sandy, the kit of her heart, her one chance to redeem herself of past wrongs, could even now be on her way to safety. That would make all this worth it.

Paws pounded in the corridor outside the room and voices began to call out. "The prisoners have escaped!" "Fire!" "Get Marcion!" "The vermin are escapin'!" "The prison's on fire!"

The squirrel jumped up from his chair but he didn't reach the door before it sprang open. There stood Emma, panting as if she had run a great distance. "The vermin we had locked up for questioning, sir. They've escaped!"

"What? How did this happen?" Marcion yelled and ran past the wildcat without waiting for an answer.

Emma watched the woodland leader recede down the hallway, then rushed into the bedroom and began to untie her former employer. "Did he hurt you?"

"Only my pride." Pearl sat up and rubbed her wrists. "But I gave up on that a long time ago." She couldn't stop the flood of questions from pouring out of her. "What's going on? Why are you helping me? What happened to my friends? Where's Sandy?"

The catmaid shot a look at the still open door. She hissed at the vixen, "Shhh. There will be time to answer everything after we get out of here." She took the cord with which Pearl had been tied up and with one end still secured around a bedpost, threw the rest out the third story window. It didn't quite reach the ground. They would still have to jump a short way.

It was no time at all before the agile cat was over the sill and on her way down the lifeline to safety below. The vixen was a little more hesitant to trust her well-being to the thin cord.

"Ms. Pearl, come on," Emma called up to her. "We don't have much time."

Those cobblestones were awfully far down. Pearl tried to look anywhere but at the dizzying drop. She caught sight of the smoke pouring from the nearby prison. "Fates! I hope they made it out safe."

"I'm sure they're fine. Please, come now before anybeast sees us!"

"Seasons, help me," the vixen breathed, clambering over the sill and clutching the cord in her paws. Her footclaws dug into any purchase they could find on the smooth surface of the brick building. Pearl had dressed quickly but she hadn't bothered to put on her shoes in her haste. She tried desperately not to look down as the catmaid below called up encouragement. After what seemed like a long time, she came to the literal end of her rope.

"It's not far now, Ms. Pearl. Jump."

But she couldn't jump. The fox's paws were clamped fast around the rope with fright. "I can't!" she squealed.

"Yes you can." Emma's paw touched her footpaw. "I'm right here. You don't have far to go."

"Indeed," Pearl looked down and saw that the space she had left to drop was actually less than that she had jumped from Nakat's tower down to the roof of his mansion. She took a deep breath and let go but landed badly on her ankle. "AH!"

The wildcat was at her side in an instant. "Are you well enough to walk? We gotta get outa here."

"I think so." The vixen accepted the younger female's silent offer of help and leaned heavily on her former employee as they began to travel away from the rising smoke. Pearl couldn't help but peer back at the inferno.

"I'm . . ." Emma stopped a moment and gazed in the same direction as the vixen. Then she looked at the madam herself. "I'm sure Sandy wasn't in there when it went up."

"You mean they got her out?" Pearl couldn't contain her excitement at the words. She didn't realize she was digging her claws into the catmaid's arm.

"Yeah . . . sure . . . Ms. Pearl you're hurting me."

The vixen let go quickly. "Oh, Em. I'm sorry. I never meant to . . ." Something dawned on her and she stared hard at the wildcat. "I thought you were dead. Then Dirano said that he saw you, that you were well and that . . . you turned him over to the woodlanders."

All pain forgotten, Emma's face lit up with pride at the accusation. "Well you always said he was trouble, and you were right. He never loved me. It was all an act. I was just another toy to him. So I knew I had to get back at him and the Heirs provided the perfect opportunity. I . . ." She lost some of her bravado and smiled guiltily at her employer. "I knew you would send somebeast after me so I had to make it look like I had died. I didn't want you to get hurt, Ms. Pearl. You've done so much for me. You took me in off the street when I didn't have anybeast or anything. You taught me how to take care of myself and be independent."

Pearl thought of the things that she had taught this female. It was true that the girl would never go hungry as long as she had her looks and 'talents' but at what cost? Em was only about Zuzu's age when the vixen had found her all alone and begging for bread. If she had it all to do over again she would never . . .

"I did what I thought was best at the time." The madam frowned.

"You saved my life. What else could I do but make sure that your enemies couldn't hurt you anymore? It wasn't just Dirano I brought to them." The catmaid seemed to be searching hard for the older female's approval. "I told them about Nelda Higgins, too."

"You what?" Pearl blinked. She had no idea that her girls were even aware of the old resentment that ran between the two vixens.

Emma's smirk reminded the older female powerfully of herself in younger, more arrogant seasons.

"Right after I led them to Di, I sent the woodlanders to raid the Golden Brush."

Pearl rubbed at a spot between her eyes where a tension headache was just beginning to throb. She thought of poor Zula who had been dragged from her home in that raid. Then along with the little vixen she pictured Rekkua and the Sheriff and her other friends who had gotten mixed up in this terrible mess. She turned away from Emma and looked back at the fire.

The wildcat seemed to sense the vixen's change in mood. "Where were you supposed to meet back up with them?"

"I. . ." Now that she thought about it Pearl couldn't recall there being a discussion about what would happen after the escape. "I don't know. I was too concerned with them finding Sandy and . . . and my part of the bargain . . ."

"Well maybe they went back to Sarkleyet's. That's where you met them, isn't it?"

The vixen never wanted to encounter the mad marten ever again and she really couldn't imagine Brull or Rekkua wanting meet up with him either. Still, where else would they go? Neither of them were familiar with the town. "Yes. I suppose we could start there."

The two females met few creatures on the streets as they raced away from the blaze and toward the mansion on the outskirts of the town. The going was slow with Pearl limping on her sore ankle and Emma helping her along. They kept to the shadows, watching so closely for pursuers that they didn't at first notice the grizzly remains fixed to the gate of the estate.

Emma screamed.

Pearl, for all her squeamishness, couldn't seem to drag her eyes away from the mangled, bloodless body of the cat.

"Dirano," she whispered. She may not have liked him, but she would have never wished this fate on anybeast.

"I never wanted to . . ." the catmaid stepped forward and reached out a paw to touch the cold paw of her former lover. "I only wanted to teach him a lesson. I never. . ." There were tears in her eyes.

"You loved him." The vixen observed, placing a paw on her protégé's shoulder. Then she reached up and pulled down a note that had been pinned to the male's stained, blue coat. She read over it quickly and then passed it to Emma. Regret at having kept the two of them apart stabbed her like a physical pain. "He loved you, too. His final words . . . He spoke of you."

The catmaid clutched the bit of parchment to her heart. "What deranged beast would have done this?"

"I don't know." Pearl turned away from the scene. Her gaze was turned toward ships in the harbor, but her thoughts were far away. She was remembering another male, hanging not from a gate like this one but instead from the yardarm of his own ship. She never knew if Troaz had hung himself or if his crew had finally mutinied as they had been threatening to do.

There were plenty of deranged beasts in the world and the vixen had had the unfortunate opportunity to cross paths with too many of them.

"What exactly did you say to him?"

The voice that came from the other side of the gate sounded somewhat familiar to Pearl but she couldn't place it. "Em, come on." She dragged the younger female away only a moment before the timber door swung open.

The gruff answering voice was even more familiar than the first. "Just what I told you I was gonna say, Antonio, that we weren't going to play his game anymore and if he tried to force us we'd . . ."

Pearl didn't allow the wolverine to finish his statement. She hurtled out of her hiding place, disregarding her twisted ankle, and wrapped her arms around the big beast. "You're alive. We saw Dirano and I feared the worst."

"Yeah, well." Aras awkwardly dislodged himself from the vixen's embrace. "We didn't all make it out of that jungle."

"What do you. . ." The Madam's gaze traveled quickly over the beasts who were on their way out of Sarkleyet's gate. There was Rea and the stoat and even the snake . . . "Sybil! Where is she? What happened?"

None of the questers seemed to want to answer the question. They looked around at each other mutely until the serpent reared up and spoke. "Miss Sybil was taken by the same creature who . . ." She flicked her tongue in Dirano's direction.

Suddenly, a dark shape flew past Pearl and began attacking the wolverine.

"How could you? What did you do to him?" Emma broke down into sobs beating her paws against Aras's chest.

"Whoa now! It wasn't me." The gentle giant grabbed the wildcat's wrists and held them out so she could do no further damage. "It was a crazy sable called, Castille."

"Castille? Never met him but I've heard the name. Nasty piece of work, that one."

None of the gathered creatures had noticed the male fox sidling in among them.

"Do I know you?" Pearl asked him, thinking he did look somewhat familiar.

The fox grinned. "Well Ms. Pearl, your friend Brull calls me Pretty Ears and you'd certainly be welcome to do the same."


	48. The Urgan Nagru Designer Label

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 46. The Urgan Nagru Designer Label**

_by Nallmian (substitute author)_

Rea was not accustomed to sneaking around, nor to spying on other beasts without their knowledge or consent. She wasn't even sure why she was doing it. Yet the fact of the matter was, there had been something _different_ about Aras when the group had assembled the morning after Sybil…after Sybil…when they had assembled that morning. The wolverine seemed more alert, more energetic, and more purposeful. But there had also been another quality there, something dark, something that wasn't evil, but was harsher than what she had sensed about him before. Yes, all of her instincts told her that something had changed with Aras since that night, and she wanted to find out what.

Earlier that morning, Aras had decided that the best course of action was to return to Evnakt, regroup and plot their next move. Eventually, the whole group had agreed, being given little choice in the matter as Aras started walking back. The walk back to Evnakt had been long and quiet, and despite the fact that they were a group, it had been a very lonely trek as well, each beast alone in their own thoughts. Yet through that whole journey, Rea had been unable to keep her thoughts from returning to Aras and that uncanny feeling just on the edge of her intuition.

_"Home, sweet home! " Thalliv declared with an exaggerated attempt at chipperness that drew only sharp glares from the other beasts. "Well, I'm only trying to—"_

"Your efforts are wholly unnecessary, and ineffectual besides, so please be silent" Antonio snapped at him. The stoat had been a veritable ball of tension for the whole walk back. It didn't take a dreamsayer to see that he had been deeply affected by the procession of disasters that had stalked them .

"Our quest has not been wholly fruitless, though our companions be lost," Silisk said. "Mayhaps we should give our reliquary to Sarkleyet and—"

"No."

Silisk shifted around Antonio's shoulders to look at Aras. "There is no need to interupt my counsel, Ikaras." For a beast with such limited facial features, it was amazing to Rea just how disapproving Silisk could look.

"I'm done running around doing Sarkleyet's errands. It isn't our fault that he went into business with a paranoid security fanatic who hid their prized invention. Assuming it ever worked in the first place."

Thalliv bristled in indignation. "I'll have you know that Master Nevyeer and Master Sarkleyet tested their—yipe!" The weasel gave an involuntary yelp as Aras clapped a monstrously strong paw on his shoulder and yanked him to right in front of the wolverine's face.

"I. Don't. Care. Sarkleyet didn't tell us all the ridiculous games we'd have to play, and somehow failed to mention that there was a dangerous lunatic running around the city. If he thinks he can treat us like slaves, then maybe he should get off his tail and find his own Brandy."

Upon reaching the mansion, Aras had left the group and gone inside, presumably to tell Sarkleyet exactly this. However, something about him still felt…off, and Rea wanted to know what it was.

That was why Rea Lightbringer, a nearly grown female and a dreamsayer at that, was now playing a game she hadn't played since she was a cub, namely stalking an unsuspecting beast and trying to remain undetected. It seemed to be working. The wolverine had not appeared to notice her presence as she had followed him from a distance down the winding halls of the mansion. The wolverine's posture was straighter and his gait more brisk than it had been before. That harsh aura she felt from him…it was like something out of the wild. Wild. That's the word that described what he felt like, as though there were instincts within him that he had restrained for a long time only to let loose the previous night. The feeling scared Rea a bit. It was not unnatural, all beasts had that place in their hearts that was still wild, but Siren spoke of the need to tame this nature, to be in balance and connected with the rest of the world. She did not feel that Aras was in balance.

The wolverine went straight to a large set of double doors and knocked. Moments later, the door swung open and he entered. Rea waited for a moment, and then crept forward as quietly as she could. Checking down the side hall, she found it devoid of servants or anyone else, and so she pressed her ear to the door to try to hear what was going on inside.

"—risky venture. Was there anything else?" Rea only heard the end of Sarkleyet's first sentence, but she could hear it quite clearly. The marten was not attempting to be quiet.

"I need to be honest with you." Aras responded.

There was a pause. "Excuse me?" Sarkleyet asked.

"Before Red Dusk broke me out of the prison cell, I was approached by a Major in the Long Patrol. He offered me my freedom, if I provided him with the names and details of vermin leaders on Evnakt."

"I see. I should have expected as much. Perhaps I have underestimated the Long Patrol. I assume, though, that if you are telling me this you are not irretrievably in the Major's tunic pocket?" Sarkleyet did not sound overly concerned, but Rea could detect a tense undertone to his voice.

"No. But I have to give him something, or he'll have me executed. So, my plan is to tell him what I know, but then lead him on a false trail, so that Red Dusk can ambush him and kill him." Rea was disturbed to hear how matter-of-factly Aras could speak of this sort of thing.

"An interesting proposition. Yes, I think that's the best course of action. It may be more profitable to capture than to kill him. An officer in the Long Patrol has both information and bargaining value. This can easily be arranged. If I may ask, though, what prompted you to tell me all this?"

"I got tired of the hares treating me like an errand runner or a slave," Aras grumbled.

Sarkleyet chuckled. "Yes, I imagine it is rather demeaning to be treated as an inferior by your own prey…you have eaten hare before, I imagine?" Rea gasped quietly. She had wondered about Aras, but to hear her fears confirmed so casually…the wolf jumped slightly as she heard the sound of a chair suddenly squeak and heard Aras start walking towards the door.

"Ah, Ikaras…" Sarkleyet seemed to realize he had made a faux pas. "I do appreciate the infor—"

Rea barely managed to step away from the door before it opened and Aras emerged. Her eyes widened, and she tried as hard as she could not to look guilty. Rea had never been a good liar, though, and her heart pounded as she tried to think of an explanation or excuse. She never needed one, however, because Aras just kept walking, leaving Rea alone in the corridor.

Rea waited for him to get further along, and then hurried to rejoin the group outside, arriving just in time to hear Antonio ask Aras "What exactly did you say to him?"

"Just what I told you I was gonna say, Antonio, that we weren't going to play his game anymore and if he tried to force us we'd . . ." Aras was unable to finish his sentence because at that moment Pearl burst through the door flung her arms around the wolverine in a gesture that seemed to surprise Aras as much as anybody else.

"You're alive. We saw Dirano and I feared the worst," Pearl said.

"Yeah, well, we didn't all make it out of that jungle."

[i]No. No we didn't…oh, Sybil…. Those awful moments with the dying marten came flooding back to Rea in an almost overwhelming wave.  
Pearl looked confused, but then began demanding to know where Sybil was, and for a while nobeast seemed to have an answer for her. _How do we tell her something like this?_

Finally, it was Silisk who filled the void, indicating Dirano with a tilt of the head and a flick of her forked tongue. "Miss Sybil was taken by the same creature who…"

Silisk's explanation was interrupted by a sudden shriek of rage and grief. A female wildcat burst onto the scene and began pounding ineffectually at Aras, sobbing.

"How could you? What did you do to him?"

"Whoa now! It wasn't me!" Aras held the female's clawed paws away from his body, speaking firmly but gently. "It was a crazy sable named Castille."

"Castille? Never met him but I've heard the name. Nasty piece of work that one." Rea jumped at the new voice. She turned to see a trim, rather handsome fox step up to the group. She hadn't heard his approach at all.

Pearl frowned. "Do I know you?"

The fox grinned. "Well, Ms. Pearl your friend, Brull, calls me Pretty Ears and you'd certainly be welcome to do the same."

Antonio looked at the newcomer. "Well...'Pretty Ears'..." The stoat frowned, as though annoyed by the informality of the nickname. "Do you have some business with us?"

The fox nodded. "The Boss-you'd know him as Brull--sent me to tell you that he, the young vixen and the monitor all made it out with the vermin prisoners. They're holed up in the Oasis. Brull wanted me to come tell Pearl where we are."

'Did they find my kit? Do they have Sandy? Is she alright? Tell me what happened!" Pearl was practically frantic.

Pretty Ears stepped back from the vixen. "No, they couldn't find her. But they got a lot of other beasts out and made ol' Marcion a very unhappy squirrel."

Pearl was visibly crestfallen, but she turned to the rest of the assembled beasts rather than ask further questions. "The Oasis is my...establishment. It's one of the few intact buildings that isn't owned by Sarkleyet. You're all welcome to come and stay there."

Antonio sighed. "I suppose we are in urgent need of a new interim base of operations."

Aras shook his head. "You can go on ahead. I have things to do."

"But…"Pearl looked concerned.

"Don't worry about it, I'll be along later." The wolverine stalked off, leaving the group in his wake.

Pearl began talking to the rest of the group about how they would get back to the Oasis, but Rea wasn't listening. A terrible thought was going through her head. _What if he's hungry? What if he's going to go kill and eat somebeast else?_ She glanced at Pearl, at Antonio and Silisk. Should she tell them? What if she was wrong? What if they didn't believe her? No, that would be the wrong thing to do.

"Uh, why don't you go ahead and go. I want to check and make sure Aras is alright. He's still upset about Sybil." It sounded a little odd even to Rea, but nobeast challenged her on it.

"You're right, that's probably a good idea," said Pearl. The vixen then gave her instructions on how to find the Oasis.

Rea thanked her and began to follow Aras at a distance. The wolverine went deep into the city, into what Rea was pretty sure was territory held by the Felldoh's Heirs. Rea backed her ears and began to look around anxiously for any threat, wondering why Aras didn't seem more on edge about their surroundings. Suddenly, the wolverine ducked into the abandoned shell of a building. Most of one wall had been torn away by the storm, and Rea was able to find a hiding place in the alley across the street and still see in.

The wolverine stood in the middle of the hollowed out building for a moment. Suddenly, a group of hares emerged from the shadows, and Rea gasped. However, Aras seemed utterly unconcerned, and the hares did not make any move to harm him. Instead, one hare vanished, and reappeared moments later with another, older hare.

"Ah, Ikaras. What do you have to tell me? I trust you've been gathering information dilligently?" said the older hare.

"I wanted to give you an update, Major Calderon. When the Red Dusk broke me out of the prison cell, I was taken to the manor of a wealthy marten named Sarkleyet. He blackmailed me into going on a hunt for some mythical potion called the Red Brandy. Since I knew that the Long Patrol would rather keep any weapons out of the hands of vermin, I went along with it." Aras proceeded to give an account of the hunt for the brandy, glossing over the deaths of Sybil and Dirano.

Rea's eyes were wide at this point. _Aras is a spy? He's been secretly working for the hares this whole time? What else has he been hiding?_

"Well, did you find the bloody potion yet?" Calderon asked impatiently.

"No. But I can give you all of these details about Sarkleyet, so that you can mount an attack on him, and kill him."

Rea didn't even want to hear any more. The wolverine had fooled all of them, not just the group looking for the Brandy, but Sarkleyet and Major Calderon as well. She had to go back! She had to tell the others...

Rea slowly eased her way out of the alley and began trying to retrace her steps. However, the wolf was unused to the winding, redundant streets of Evnakt. It didn't taker her long to become rather lost, wandering from street to street looking for some sort of landmark.

Suddenly, Rea's sensitive ears caught the sound of a small piece of rubble being disturbed. She froze in place, trying to figure out where it came from. _Am I being foll--_

An arrow suddenly embedded itself in Rea's calf, and the wolf went down hard. Another two arrows found their marks in her back, sending white-hot lances of pain through her body.

Panic gripped the wolf. Despite the terrible heat in her leg, she forced herself up and desperately tried to seek shelter. Another arrow sank deep into her shoulder, disabling her left arm, and it was all she could do to stumble into a filthy alley that seemed the same as all the other ones she had seen in this dreary place.

"So, they have wolves in Evnakt, wot wot?" There was a nasty chuckle as a hare stepped into the alley, blocking the exit, a curved dirk in his paws and a bow slung across his back. The hare's fur was unkempt, his uniform was torn and he had a slightly manic look in his eye. "I've had my fill of treating vermin with satin gloves. Even Major Regaworth can't take me to task for killing of a savage beast like you."

"Why are you doing this? Stop!" Rea, tears in her eyes tried to shrink further away.

The hare just smirked, offering a melodramatic flourish of his dirk wielding paw. "Captain Forlian Woxley at your service, Madame Wolf. Sixth in my family to serve in the good old Long Patrol. And then that trollop Major thinks she can just toss me out on m'duff over bitty-itty disagreement."

"I'm not hurting anybopdy! Please stop! Leave me alone!" Rea turned and tried to hobble away, but the hare leapt onto her back and sank the dirk in deep...and suddenly, Rea's legs just stopped working. The deadened limbs felt like they weren't there at all. She couldn't feel them, couldn't move them. But there was still pain, horrible pain, when the hare ripped the dirk out of her spine.

Rea's screams of agony rent the night as the hare sheathed the dirk and pulled out a shorter, wider blade. "Don't be such a noisy gel. Try and die with some honor, eh?" The hare advanced. "I seem to remember a story about a certain fox who made quite a name for himself by pretending to slay a wolf. What was his name? Oh, yes, Nagru! I'll probably make Major if I can match his kill. I'll go back and they'll all see me and then it'll be Regaworth wot's out and me wot's in."

The hare walked up to Rea and kicked her to the ground. "Some of our majors are just such bally nuisances, dontcha know? That stuffy old maiden aunt Regaworth, insisting on bringing along her pet vermin to guide us, making us spare vermin who she thinks aren't related to our work here. Well I say every vermin who still draws breath is our business."

The hare leaned forward and sneered at Rea. "There's lots of other prissy bureaucrats in the Long Patrol these days. About time they got a proper warrior in the upper ranks. Major Woxley's going to cut quite a figure walking around in his wolf-skin cloak, now won't he?"

Rea's tear-filled eyes widened further. She had heard terrible stories of what some beasts sought to do with the pelts of her kind, but had dismissed them as only that. Now not only did she find these stories to be real, but it was going to happen to her. _Siren, why?_ She was going to die in horrible pain, alone, many miles from home, abandoned by her companions, her deities and everyone else.

Rea's heartrending howl of sorrow and pain must have carried across most of the island. Even the crazed Captain Woxley paused and stopped talking as he heard it. The howl went on and on, but when no other beasts materialized, the hare shrugged and advanced on Rea, slamming her to the ground with a powerful footpaw and crouching down next to her body.

The short blade flashed in the air, and suddenly Rea's left paw was nothing but a mass of white-hot pain as Woxley began to cut the fur away. Rea's screams grew louder as her blood pooled around her, and she tried desperately to escape. Even half-paralyzed, the strength of a wolf was sufficient to knock Woxley off his balance several times. Finally, the hare snarled, pulled back the wide bladed dagger and jabbed it into the side of Rea's abdomen, making a long, vertical cut down her abdomen. The wolf screamed louder as the blade sliced through muscles and entrails. The hare rolled the quickly weakening wolf onto her side to try to prevent blood from spoiling her fur.

Time lost all meaning for Rea as the horrible pain racked her whole body, Woxley's knife peeling fur away from her paw, wrist and arm. She stopped noticing her own screams after a while, and only barely noticed when Woxley suddenly dropped the wide bladed dagger, groping for his bow desperately.

"Oh sh--" Suddenly, there was a blur as a great dark shape slammed into Woxley, who was torn away like a fly in a gale. There were shrill screams from the hare accompanied by several bones snapping in quick succession and the sound of tearing. It didn't take long for the hare to go silent.

Blood loss and shock had done most of their work, and Rea was barely able to recognize the newcomer as Aras.

"A--Araaaas." Rea reached up with her unmangled paw and touched the wolverine's own paw. A final vision came to her, a series of brief scenes united only by cold, loneliness and the feeling of not belonging. There were so many of them, a bleak tapestry so different from Rea's own life, which now began to flash before her eyes. Mama and Papa teaching her the ways of her tribe, days spent playing with the other pups, the long nights the tribe spent together around their fires. Rea had never been alone. Not like Aras had.

"Aras...you poor creature." Rea stopped fighting the inevitable, stopped feeling the pain, and let the winds carry her to Siren and her ancestors.


	49. Dead!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

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**Chapter 47. Dead!  
**_by Antonio_

He had no idea why he was bothering with the locked box, on tonight of all nights.

"Why not break it open with the hatchet?" somebeast had asked. His weary mind was unable to recall exactly who had made the foolish suggestion. Aras? The wolverine's colossal head could not have been filled with only air; he was smarter than that. Thalliv, perhaps, although, maybe it was…

Whomever had made the misinformed suggestion, they had failed to notice the particular shape and make of the device. There was clearly some sort of safeguard designed into the box to prevent forcible entry; knocking upon the metal and listening proved that there was a compartment within the box. This combined with the design proved that there was some sort of vial of fluid that would burst upon the lock being pried open, ruining whatever clue was inside. Or perhaps there was flit that would strike tinder, igniting the contents and injuring the beast who dared to break the lock. Antonio couldn't quite tell. Besides, he did not have the hatchet anymore.

After finding a good place to work, one without so much visual noise, he set about examining the box. No visual clues on the surface that he could discern. No bumps on the outside of the box, no openings save the lock.

Antonio sighed. He hadn't the faintest idea why he was doing this. But he knew he couldn't leave it as it was.

It's crooked._ he thought. _I can't just leave her there like that. Her arm is-__

"Anybeast wanna say…anything?" said Aras.

Antonio shuffled his footpaws, then spoke. "Miss Sybil was…a most valuable asset to the group. She will be missed."

Nobeast else said anything. At least Antonio hadn't heard anybeast else say anything. He was focused on the hole, the grave. And how her arm was crooked, how the cut that spread from one side of her neck to the other was malformed. The grave was all wrong, too. There was no symmetry. There would be no sleep tonight, Antonio knew, not with all of these glaring errors staring at him.

Rea spoke in what was presumably her native tongue. It was incomprehensible babble to Antonio, made worse by how she muttered every syllable so that nobeast could understand. Burial rites, more than likely.

And then she howled.

It was near a B-flat, only just, off-key as her voice was. He could not stop thinking about the howl. He longed for a pitch pipe or an instrument with which to correct her tone.

Dirt was shoveled over Sybil, over the corpse. That was no way to shovel dirt. "Haphazard" could not even accurately describe the way they threw the earth upon her. One had to evenly spread the dirt before moving on to the next layer. He should correct them right now, explain to them how a proper grave was dug.

Antonio did not move. He stood, staring at a crooked arm, while dirt was shoveled unprofessionally over a corpse, and an imperfect B-flat drilled into his head. 

Perhaps a drill would work. Antonio looked about the room. The trouble was, their current housing offered nothing in the way of hardware. There had been enough of it at Castille's dwelling, however. He had taken up residence in some sort of a storehouse, making good use of the tools there. The bastard.

_"Castille!"_

His voice hurt him. Excellent, another pain to add to the list. His legs ached, his lungs ached, his chest ached, his head ached and now his throat ached. Five aches. At least it was a good, square number. Two more and he might have been more upset.

He knew he was in here. That smell was curdling the air.

A shadow moved to his right. Glass shattered and metal clacked against wood as Antonio upturned the table, spilling it towards the shadow. Nobeast was there. Antonio turned around to see a gaping hole in the ceiling, revealing the night sky, moon blazing half-full in a cloak of grey-blue clouds. Castille must have exited from that hole and Antonio attacked his shadow. The stoat turned to leave, the nights breeze warm on the back of his neck.

His elbow connected with warm midsection. Fur brushed against his shoulder as Castille doubled over. The night was cold; it was only Castille's breath that had been warm.

The axe arced dull silver in the air, missing as the sable ducked, countered with a punch to Antonio's midsection. The stoat exhaled, tensed his muscles, rolled into the impact. He brought the axe back around. Wood collided with skull. The resounding vibrations were enough to shatter a wrist, but he still held onto his weapon. A kick sent Castille staggering backwards towards a window.

Castille was nothing more than a disorganized, hulking ink blot silhouetted in front of the window. Even through the lack of light, each and every one of his physical faults were highlighted perfectly. Antonio feared he would increase his growing headache by staring at the macabre collage of a beast crouched before him.

"Did you a favor," he half intoned, half chuckled as he teetered over the windowsill. Antonio walked closer. "One less sloppy urchin for you to deal with."

The hatchet flew through the air in an awkward, unrehearsed arc, again striking only air as its target plunged over the side and into the jet dark.

"He's…he is gone. I am coming down," he announced at the top of the stair. Contrary to what he expected, nobeast was watching the stair in anticipation of a foebeast descending. They were instead all gathered around the table at the center of the room.

Antonio approached the mob. He did not have to ask but an answer was provided all the same, from a tear stricken Rea.

"Sybil…Sybil's…"

The candle had blown out. Gads, was everything so unreliable around here? Shoddy floorboards, beds misaligned from the walls, pictures hanging crooked, a severe lack of centering and symmetry of placement of the door handles. One should not expect perfection from a whorehouse but there were standards of living to follow.

After much digging through a cabinet he was sure was leaning at an odd angle thanks to a malformed base, Antonio procured a tattered box of matches from a drawer. It barely was a box. A box was not a box unless it possessed only ninety-degree angles; this one had at least one eighty-five degree angle. Or possibly an eighty six. Maybe an eighty-seven. Yet in this darkness, who could tell? With a flick of the wrist and friction that raised a shiver throughout Antonio's arm, he ignited the match. He jumped at what he beheld in front of him.

_It is not even possible. Nothing of_ this _magnitude on_ that _surface is even possible_

Whiskers pointed at odd angles. Fur clumped in messy gobs at all sides. Deep creases had formed in the brow, untidy, uneven. Antonio reached out to see if the phantom was real.

His paw touched the glass of the mirror. It was. His disheveled face contorted into something worse and he immediately set about repair.

The whiskers were taken care of easily enough, though he found it hard to control his quaking claws as he pinched and preened. Rearranging his facial fur was made nearly impossible by this sudden affliction. He could not do a single thing with his paws. Weariness had gotten to them.

It had never gotten to him before. Weariness had never gotten to him. Ever. But it had now, surely. Next was the hair upon his brow. His paws were more unstable than thin parchment in a typhoon. Wrestling both his nigh uncontrollable muscles, he smoothed most of the creases. He was done.

Except for his ears. They were crooked, he was sure.

Crooked? Had they always been that way? He would have noticed, surely…surely. Something like that wouldn't escape him. It was a new deformation.

_Ears do not misalign themselves on a whim,_ he corrected himself.

They had to have always been crooked. Antonio clenched the sides of his head. But then, why had he not noticed? But then, why-

He slammed his fist down upon the dresser where it remained glued for a good while. The action pulled him out of the loop at least. Antonio concentrated on the box.

No hinges to remove, no way for him to pick the lock. He ran a paw across his left ear. No way to force the box open because it would undoubtedly damage what was inside. He felt the other ear. He simply did not posses the needed tools. Why, with a proper drill or auger or perhaps even a carefully maneuvered hammer and chisel, maybe he could-

His paws froze. He was gauging the height of his ears without even knowing it.

Fates knew he did not have enough troubles already, oh no, surely not with two, _three_ of his own dead, one of the surviving members having tried to kill him previous and the other surviving member who clearly did not consider him to be enough of a leader to consult him before terminating their collective deal with Sarkeleyet. And his plans, oh, his _lovely_ plans, were all going quite swimmingly. Really, how else could they go when they were so deep sunken in to their conception stages that he virtually _had_ none, all those steadily built up before now eroded through by the winds of change. No, he _needed_ his affliction to intensify right now, _needed_ his practical madness to afflict him now, when every bit of him needed to focus on his goal, else he fail or perish. Why _not_ another distraction? Why _should_ fate not tear the carpet from underneath his feet, as so many a time ago?

Knocking at the door – two knocks, _only_ two and not the standard three knocks – jerked Antonio's head at an odd angle. Away with them. Let him finish his work.

"Do come in."

The door opened. _Ah,_ thought Antonio, _the whore. Just who I need to see at such a time_.

"I heard a racket from downstairs. Is everything quite alright?"

_Infernal. Everything is infernal._

"Quite alright. I was merely unable to sleep and so ran into the dresser in my restless pacing."

The vixen nodded. "I see." She began to shuffle. Antonio knew what that shuffle meant. Any moment now, she would ask him.

"You seem troubled. Is there…anything you'd like to talk about?"

Antonio could feel a growth at the back of his throat.

_There is nothing to talk about, positively nothing that words would solve. And even if there were, I would not want to share them with the likes of you. Now, be gone before I catch whatever diseases you have contracted from your harlotry._

"I am afraid that I don't – do _not_ have anything with which to share in conversation, Miss Pearl."

Tell-tale signs played across her face. She would speak again, but would she hold her tact?

"All of us have had quite a day. It might help to take a load off your mind."

_What would take a load of my mind wound involve you leaving me alone_

Antonio smiled. "Thank you. I do confess that I am…rattled. And disappointed." He, took, kept his tact. "But I am afraid there is nothing specific about which I can speak."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Rea and Sybil and…and Dirano."

His eyes moved to the floor.

"As am I."

The silence played out amidst the odd shuffle from the prying vixen and occasional breezes pressing against the house. Antonio stayed still. He waited.

_Just leave. Leave now. Let me alone_

"Well, I wanted to make sure you were alright. After that little spat with Sheriff Bull…" She shuffled again, prompting a meek smile from Antonio's lips.

"I assure you that I am quite alright. Do not feel obligated to stay."

Yet, current trends what they were, she continued to hover over him, gradually decaying his patience until she finally said farewell and retired for the night, thank Fates.

Wide eyes looked at the box from a tilted angle. As his lids lowered, he could feel his lips purse as though he were about to give the object a stern speech.

_You really are a poor excuse for a puzzle box, do you know that? Honestly, most come with some sort of a clue inscribed upon their hull, but you, sir, are entirely bare. No pressure mechanisms, no concealed buttons; nothing short of a key will open you and even then, what could you possibly have that would be of_ any _help to anybeast?_

The Brandy, he reminded himself. That fabled crimson swill of which they had heard so much legend and hyperbole. Three beasts dead for the concoction of a madbeast.

Only two. There had been only two who had really died searching for it. The third, she had been watching out for her comrade, not smart enough to run when she saw the signs.

_The wolverine's mouth was agape to the point Antonio fancied he could hear a wind echo through the wide, dark space. Everybeast was not sure they had actually heard the news they had heard. Aras was not sure he had said what he had said. But he did not repeat himself. There was finality in that quiet as he stood there, nodding without moving in the way his eyes fell and shut._

Somebeast snorted.

"Shame somebeast didn't tell them not to go on that fool errand. Oh, wait…I did." The volume in the room grew without a sound being uttered as all eyes turned towards a smug looking Brull, sitting in his easy chair. "Told the marten, told the freak fox, told you," he pointed at Ikarus, "and I told you!" he concluded, pointing at Antonio.

Pearl blanched visibly. "Mr. Brull, I don't believe now is a good time for this..."

"Oh, I think now is as good a time as any," the rat sneered, lifting himself out of the chair and beginning pacing. "Isn't that right, Tony?" The stoat cringed at the improper use of his name, but there was no relenting undertone in the Sheriff's manner. "You go and tell everyone here how I came up to you and told you not to go on this damn fool quest and how it was a bad idea."

He did not want to hear this. "Sheriff, if you would kindly-"

"Would you kindly? Would you kindly?" the Sheriff mocked in a high pitched voice. "That's all I ever hear out of you, 'would you kindly'. Would you_ kindly cut your garbage manners?"_

"Shut up."

The world seemed to stutter. Antonio thought he heard a gasp though not a single mouth within the room moved.

"Yes, shut up. Shut up because nobeast likes to hear the truth. 'Specially not high maintenance prats who are used to the world bending over and kissing their tail at the snap of their claws."

He was shaking now. "You are trying my patience."

"Aw, s'the matter, Tony? Plan not work out? Someone botch their grammar? Speck of blood on your pretty paws? C'mon, shove a stick up your rear and walk around like your better then every beast and act like Emperor of the World. Used to cheer you up. I know [i]I liked being talked to like an infant."

"Shut [/i]up_."_

"Let's hear it, sweet-heart, let's hear it. Say, 'Brull was right, and I was wrong.'"

He was not wrong, not about the Brandy, not about any decision he had made. He could not be wrong. Because if he was, then it was his paw on the blade as it fell upon his three comrades.

"Heck, you can even skip the first bit if you really want, but I've got to hear you say the other-"

Brull was on the ground. He was standing, his words freshly leaked into Antonio's ear and then he was on the ground. Brull was on the ground and Antonio's knuckles bled.

They were only just sore, rather. Rending flesh from paw with one blow was impossible. Yet with all the force behind it and the pain resonating through his paw and wrist…

"Mister Antonio, why'd ya-"

"Calm, everybeast be calm!"

Sombeast growled, was suddenly hit away.

"No. Nobeast lay a finger on him."

He thought about kicking Brull. He thought about ramming his foot so far into his face that he would physically be unable to smirk at him again. He did not do it.

Antonio said something to Brull before ascending the stair. He could not remember just what it was. Something about Brull's mother. Probably. After the climb he shut himself in the room he claimed on the second floor, sat upon his mattress and stared at floorboards. They were uneven.

They were still uneven, he noted as he exited his room. He contemplated returning with a hammer when his business was done before mentally striking himself. Take a hammer to those boards? Perish the thought! He would need a pry-bar for that sort of work.

Antonio paused at the top of the steps. Silisk's room was to his immediate left. He should not tell anybeast where he was bound, especially not Silisk. In the jungle he came close to death several times. One of those times was by the paw of one of his own – coil, rather. Antonio felt himself stiffen even then as he recalled her shuffling against his neck, that cold closing over his windpipe. She had but been a burden to his shoulders, had probably ruined his shirt from her constant moving upon it with her soiled scales, given him no information which he could now use and was a liability overall. He should tell her nothing.

Antonio pushed the door open. He made his presence known a good five paces from her least he startle the adder into consciousness and have her bite him. A small clearing of his throat combined with a weak stomp upon the floor stirred the sleeping serpent.

"Silisk?"

Though she lacked eyelids, a fact which still caused Antonio's stomach to churn, he could barely make out her eyes blinking back the transparent membrane that covered them in sleep.

"I am on my way to see Sarkleyet," he said.

"Why?"

"Aras terminated our agreement with him without our permission. By going back to him and apologizing for our…comrade's actions, I believe we may yet gain useful information on the Brandy as well as have access to more supplies."

"That was not what I was asking. Why, pray, are you telling me?"

Antonio stared at the floor. "We have a contract."

Silisk stared at him. She could see that there was something more. Thankfully, she was not vocal about it.

"Very well. I shall accompany you."

Antonio waited until she finished draping herself about his shoulders and upper body. Her coils did not feel so foreign or dirty anymore. With a nod, he left her room and descended the stairs.

Silisk had tried to kill him. But she did not. That was what mattered.

Seven beasts left Sarkelet's mansion several nights ago, together. Three were dead. Two ties were cut before they were barely even formed. One stayed at the back of his mind, even after he saw him hanging, alone. Of the living, one could not be trusted.

Two beasts left The Oasis that night and returned soon after. Together.


	50. This is SNN

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 48. This is SNN, the Most Trusted Name in Updates  
**_by Nallmian (admin)_

Major Regaworth covered the body of Captain Woxley with a tarp, stepping out of the room to try to make some sense out of this extremely disturbing and decidedly bizarre find. Woxley had always been hotheaded and perhaps aggressive to a fault. Regaworth had picked him as her second choice after her first candidate for second in command had nicked himself on a rusty nail during training and come down with lockjaw. Woxley had come highly recommended, but his firey nature had proven poorly suited to this sort of delicate reconnaissance. The two had clashed repeatedly, leading up to the final confrontation where Woxley had disobeyed orders, killing a group of vermin who had been squatting in a building the Long Patrol had wanted to survey.

"So Woxley's death is confirmed, Marm?" Colour Sergeant Holfordley, now the second most senior of the hares, asked her. When Regaworth nodded, the other hare's face showed no sorrow. "Good. Blighter didn't deserve to weat the uniform, disobeying orders like that."

_Sergeant Holfordley, you have no idea._. Major Regaworth had brought only Greenclaw with her on the hunt for Woxley, not wanting to put her six remaining hares through the ordeal of having to hunt and potentially kill one of their own. The doe had been appalled to discover how Woxley had apparently spent his last few minutes of life. The sight of that poor wolf had made her sick to her stomach. Long Patrol hares DID NOT do things like that. Furthermore, the wolf had been unarmed, and despite her massive size relative to a hare, the unfortunate beast's face didn't look much older than some of Regaworth's leverets back home. It was times like these that made Regaworth wonder whether she really wanted them to follow in her footsteps after all.

Equally strange was what had happened to Woxley. The mutinous hare's entire body had been crushed, and giant chunks of flesh torn out of his chest and neck, with blood splattered across the walls of the alley. There were no signs of him having been attacked with a weapon. Somebeast had done this to him with their bare paws and teeth.

"Sergeant Holfordley, we may have a serious complication. Please come in here and take a look at Capta—take a look at Woxley."  
Holfordley followed her into the room and lifted the tarp. Even the hardened NCO looked shocked at the damage inflicted to Woxley. "Seasons, Marm! His whole ribcage is crushed in, both arms broken, and it looks like somebeast…ate part of him." The last statement was made with special disgust.

Regaworth grimaced. She had hoped that the beast had just gone overboard tearing at Woxley, but she agreed with Holfordley. Woxley's killer had eaten some of the mutineer's body. "I can't think of too many things that could have done this to Captain Woxley. It almost looks…" She paused, aware of the gravity of what she was about to say. "It almost looks like what some victims of bloodwrath have looked like."

Colour Sergeant Holfordley looked up at her in shock. "Marm, surely you aren't suggesting that there is a badger on this island?"

"Sergeant, only Captain Woxley and I were told the exact nature of the item we are seeking, for reasons of security." Regaworth sighed. "But in light of Woxley's mutiny and subsequent death, and the new information we have here, I think I'd best tell you." Regaworth then explained to Holfordley exactly what it was that they were seeking.

"Blimey…bloodwrath in a bottle? That's what we're after? Marm, are you suggesting that somebeast else beat us to the pasty?"

"Yes, Sergeant, that is what I am suggesting. And that presents a serious problem. I made the same mistake Marcion did, Sergeant: I didn't bring enough beasts for a city. An all out assault is out of the question. And by the time we could communicate with Salamandastron to get reinforcements, whoever has the Brandy would have created a whole army. Even without the Brandy, I'm not feeling very confident in Marcion's ability to keep the vermin bottled up here. He's trying to control this whole city, but he didn't bring enough beasts. His troops are good warriors and good woodlanders, but most of them have never seen a city before. The vermin have an advantage here."

C SGT Wolfordley frowned. "I've listened in on a good deal of those Felldoh's Heirs chaps. They're not a happy bunch at the moment. They're taking a lot of losses from those Red Dawn blighters, plus lots of other small groups of vermin, and they feel like they're not getting much for it. Not to mention that Marcion…" The hare looked distinctly uncomfortable, but Regaworth saved him the trouble.

"I'm well aware that Marcion needs a tighter belt on his pants. Apparently he and Lord Garrilan once got thrown out of an otter holt in the middle of the night because Marcion had gotten caught sneaking off with the Skipper's bride-to-be."  
Wolfordley looked disgusted but said nothing else o n the subject. "Our hares are made of sterner stuff, and morale's still high. All this sneaking around causes some bellyachin', but that's all it is. Nobody's going to copy Woxley. They just wish they could do some proper blood 'n' vinegar."

"Well, they just might get their wish. We're alone, far away from reinforcements, and the enemy has apparently gained control of the Brandy. However, at this point, they either haven't had it long enough, or don't have enough of it to create a massed army of bloodwrath warriors. We cannot allow them to rectify that." Regaworth sighed, aware that her impending decision was a dangerous one. "Our mission has changed. We need to find out who has the Brandy. Then we need to kill them, and either get the Brandy back, or just destroy it altogether."

"Yes, Marm. Understood."

"Judging from the latest reports, there's two groups who seem the most likely to have it. Sarkleyet, one of the two original inventors, and the only one we believe to still be alive, may have recovered it. Alternatively, there is a large group of escaped vermin prisoners who have lodged up in a..a tavern."

"It's a local landmark called the Oasis, Marm, and I'm afraid it's not exactly a—"

"I know that, Sergeant. Regardless, we need to have eyes on both sites. If we find out either side has the Brandy, we might have to plan a raid. We're not going to try to take down the whole faction, just grab the Brandy and kill anyone who knows how to make more. Also, maybe find some way to kill their bloodwrath warriors. I imagine they'd have to keep them chained up or caged to stop them from getting out of control."

The two hares set about planning surveillance of Sarkleyet's mansion and the Oasis, and tried not to think about the betrayal and ultimate fate of Captain Woxley.

Prellon the mouse still had to work hard to suppress the fear response that was  
trying to rise up within him. It was not the first time he had been in the same room with vermin. The Leaping Pike back in his hometown served both woodlanders and vermin alike, and certainly the little trading post got its share of vermin visitors. That as it was, however, Prellon had never been in a place with such a high concentration of vermin. It didn't help that there was a distinct undertone of musk to the place's scent. When he had hesitantly asked a weasel what the Oasis actually was, the mustelid had just guffawed at him.

The only reason the weasel had chuckled rather than, say, torn his throat out and used his corpse as a soup base, was that Prellon was currently disguised as a rat. He had always been large and muscular for a mouse, and with the help of a squirrel couple who had once been part of a band of roving players, he had been able to pass as a rat fairly easily.

It had been Marcion's own idea to put an infiltrator amongst the prisoners. Apparently during his dibbunhood at Redwall Marcion had heard the story of how a rat named Vitch had disguised himself as mouse to infiltrate the Abbey, and had decided to use the opposite to spy on the prisoners. Furthermore, in the even of another escape, he had ordered Prellon to go with the rest and spy on whoever rescued them. If he heard any reference to something called "Red Brandy" he was supposed to pay particular attention, and steal it if they had already aquired it.

Earlier that evening, Prellon had seen a group of beasts come into the Oasis talking about 'the Brandy' and what had apparently been a very dangerous and costly but somewhat successful attempt to find it. One of them, a prim-looking stoat, had been carrying with utmost care an oddly-shaped box. He had later peaked in on the stoat and seem him trying to open the box. Could that box be the brandy? He hoped so, because if it was then he had a chance to get out of here.

Except…he couldn't do it tonight. He, like most of the vermin in the tavern, had bedded down for the night in one of the many bedrooms. Even for a tavern, the place had a lot of bedrooms, but all of them seemed to have only one bed, so many beasts wound up in blankets on the floor. Prellon thought this was a strange way to furnish a tavern, but evidently the owners did something right. It was easily the largest tavern he had ever seen. The mouse wondered vaguely what the draw was.

Unfortunately, earlier in the night there came a roadblock in the form a female rat who he had noticed with discomfort starting at him downstairs. He didn't mind that his rather well-built frame attracted the notice of female mice, but female rats? The very thought of it turned his stomach. Even worse, later on, at night, that same female rat had snuck into the room where he was and laid down next to him. She told him that she had been watching him all day, and found him rather dashing. Prellon had grown increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation,but had been unsure of how to convey this, and apparently the female rat had found his nervousness 'cute' and was only encouraged.. At some point, she had whispered that she could be very quiet if he could be too, and had gone for his belt buckle.

To say Prellon did not take this well would be an understatement. His shouting and flailing woke up every single beast in the room with him, and he had heard angry exclamations from the next room as well. After much glaring and swearing and throwing of objects at him, the room's inhabitants had settled back down, but there was no way Prellon was going to try sneaking out the room tonight. The mouse was just going to have to try to go to sleep in the middle of a room saturated with the scent of predators and then steal the brandy the first chance he got. Prellon silently pleaded with whoever might be out there watching down on him to please make that chance soon.

Gericault the otter was having an even worse night than Prellon, the worst of his life, in fact. The battered, bloody lutrine sat in chains in a small room that had once served as a wine cellar in a private home, his fur matted by tears. His life had begun to spiral out of control just hours earlier, when he had been standing in the Customs House guarding the arsenal and trying very hard not to think of killing Marcion...

_The room was just quiet enough that Gericault could hear his own teeth grinding together as he stood outside the weapons room wondering if it were conceptually possible for someone to have worst taste than Marcion. He had had to endure the indignity of seeing Althra walk past him to get to the stairs to the third floor. Marcion had summoned his sister, one of the Heirs' supply officers, to 'conduct an inventory review.' The smug mouse who had delivered the summons hadn't even tried to keep a straight face while delivering this news._

Dammit...he had warned Althra against getting mixed up with Marcion. It was bad enough that he was a squirrel, and the sordidness of the whole thing was made worse when it quickly became clear to everyone that this was far from an equal relationship. Althra had tried to break things off several times, but Marcion had made it clear that there would be very serious consequences for both her and Gericault if she tried it. So she stayed on call for whenever Marcion had some free time. He knew Althra was unhappy. The look she had given him walking past to go meet Marcion...she had looked miserable and embarassed, and had tried so very hard not to look at him.

The otter started as there was a sudden scream of fear from upstairs. Without a second though, Gericault rushed up the stairs. The scream suddenly stopped only seconds after it had started, and Gericault pounded on Marcion's door. When there was no answer, the otter drove his shoulder into the timbers...

And gasped as he saw Althra's body on the floor, a broken otter javelin driven into her chest, blood pooling on the floor. Looking up, he saw Marcion, a snarl of anger still on the squirrel's face. The squirrel looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Nobody in the Felldoh's Heirs disobeys me. She forgot that. Now..."

Gericault didn't here the rest, because he was charging forward, paws seeking Marcions neck. However, he never got there because Marcion threw a punch into his side that drove the wind right out of him, and then a roundhouse punch that rattled the otter's skull and made him dizzy. The squirrel was unbelievably strong for his species. Gericault tried to struggle up, but Marcion's next punch to the side cracked two of his ribs. The squirrel grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him into the wall with enough force to crack it. Barely conscious, Gericault struggled on nonetheless, but Marcion would have none of it. Lifting the otter up, he slammed him into the wall again, then threw another punch that broke another rib and made Gericault collapse to the ground, gasping and couching. The otter spat up a spot of blood as Marcion slammed a fist down onto his back.

The squirrel knelt down next to him, shaking his head. "You poor simpleton, Gericault. My grandfather, my father, my aunt and my brother were the four previous Warriors of Redwall. Did you really think you could best me?"

Gericault could barely talk. "You...you kil--"

Marcion chuckled. "Now what was your first clue, the javelin in her chest or the blood? I've been thinking this over for a while, Gericault. We've had some drawbacks around here. I thought I had more than enough soldiers to take this city, but I didn't. I can admit when I've made a mistake, Gericault. I know many of the Heirs are not happy with the slow progress and the high casualties. They need a scapegoat. They need someone to blame. And you just volunteered..." The squirrel slammed Gericault's head down onto the floor, knocking him unconscious, then stood and shouted down the hall.

"Guards, get up here immediately!"

A mouse and two hares rushed up to Marcion. The squirrel pointed into the room. "I've found the Red Dusk infiltrator who has been sabotaging our operations. He tried to kill me, but one of our supply officers who was in a meeting with me sacrificed her life for mine. She was his sister, but apparently the Red Dusk paid him more than blood was worth to him. Put him in the brig. The whole force will learn of his treachery. The assistance Gericault has rendered the Red Dusk has cost the lives of many of our comrades, and may well be to blame for the setbacks we have suffered lately. Chain him well!" 

Nobody had treated Gericault's injuries, and the otter drifted in and out of consciousness. He wondered how his holt back home was getting along, and he wondered if somehow his parents or his other siblings had some inkling of what had befallen their kin. He also thought of the vermin he had helped earlier, of Zula, the lizard, the rat and the harlot vixen who had unknowingly spared Althra some of Marcion's attention. He wondered where they were and what they were doing. Gericault did know one thing, though: the otter was praying to every spirit or folk deity he had ever heard of or believed in that in the end they would kill Marcion.


	51. Yeah, This Is Home

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 49. Yeah, This Is Home  
**_by Pearl_

I've got my memories  
Always inside of me  
But I can't go back  
Back to how it was  
Belief over misery  
I've seen the enemy  
And I won't go back  
Back to how it was

A good night sleep in her own bed, that's what she needed. In the morning she'd be able to look on all this with a clear mind. The vixen mounted the stairs and began the climb toward her suite on the top floor.

"Ms. Pearl?" The ratmaid's call stopped her in her tracks. "It sure is good to be home, isn't it?"

"Yes, Crystal." The madam smiled wearily her employee.

"I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of helping everybeast get settled in after they broke us out. Not that all of them wanted to be settled in. You should have seen the fit one gentlebeast threw when I tried to get friendly with him."

The vixen shook her head in disbelief. "Wait. Us? The F.H. had you locked up too."

Crystal shrugged. "You were sort of distracted with Sandy so I tried to go into business for myself. It's not as easy as you always made it look. No beast has any gold nowadays to get what they want. Some weasel offered me a bottle of brandy for my services and then the woodlanders popped up out of nowhere and dragged both of us off. I thought I'd be locked up there forever until the sheriff showed up. Fates, I'd follow him anywhere."

"Well, Brull is a little rough around the edges but he's a good beast." _And here I let him get attacked in my own establishment. Not that he wasn't egging Antonio on . . ._

"Don't worry Ms. Pearl, I remember what you always said about gettin' involved with our own kind."

The girl should remember. The madam rolled her eyes. Crystal had given the Oasis more pregnancy scares then any other female Pearl had ever employed. The vixen often wondered if the ratmaid secretly liked the idea of giving some male the necessity of taking care of her. Then again, maybe settling down like that was just the thing for her.

"I've been rethinking a lot of the things I taught you girls . . ." Pearl began but Crystal interrupted her in a sing-song voice.

"'Sides, Mr. Brull seemed awful worried about you." The ratmaid giggled and sauntered off toward the room that she had once shared with Jade and was now occupied by several of the rescued beasts. She stopped at the doorway however and turned back to her employer more seriously. "I am sorry they didn't find Sandy. I know she meant a lot to you."

The name hit Pearl like a lance to the heart. "Sandy."

The vixen continued her assent of the stairs stopping only once by the door of Antonio's room. She debated with herself for a moment if she should go in and speak to him again but the room sounded quiet so she decided not to risk waking the easily agitated gentlebeast.

It was a relief really, not to have to make polite conversation anymore; to just come here to her sanctuary and wallow in her sorrow.

"Sandy," Pearl breathed the name again as she sank down to the floor next to the kit's cradle. "Where are you? What will I do without you? No." She shook her head and slammed a fisted paw against the floor. "No I can't think that way. You're out there somewhere and I'm going to find you." Tears flowed freely. "I have to find you."

The creak of the floorboard behind her made the vixen gasp a moment before she heard the voice.

"You know, that chair out there on your balcony is a nice place to think. That's why I came up here."

Pearl turned slowly where she sat and looked up at the rat, "Mr. Brull, you've made rather a habit of finding me this way."

The sheriff cleared his throat and apologized. "'Pologies, I just needed a sit down... d'you have any thing for a swelled jaw?"

"No. No. It's quite all right. You're more than welcome," the madam put in quickly to save him from an explanation.

Brull nodded and rubbed the back of his neck with a paw nervously. Then he pointed at the empty crib. "We . . . I'm sorry we didn't bring the kit back to you. You held up your part of the bargain an' we couldn't . . ."

It had been a real struggle not to physically comfort Antonio when Pearl had seen how much the stoat needed a good hug. Now that her resistance was down with the emotion she had already displayed in front of the sheriff, it didn't take much to push her towards her natural tactile response. Before he had finished speaking the vixen rose from the floor, crossed the room, and embraced the very startled rat.

"O thank you. I know you did everything that you could to find her. She means everything in the world to me and you didn't have to . . . but you tried . . ."

The madam wasn't sure if she expected him to return her hug or pull away and run. After a beat she felt a very tentative paw reach around and pat her on the back accompanied by a cough and a mumbled, "S'alright."

"What have we here? I can't say that it's unexpected. After all, why would the good sheriff so far from home risk his own tail unless he was getting something in return?"

"Nelda!" Pearl spun around to face her rival. Unfortunately, she chose to do so on her weak ankle and had to throw out a paw toward Brull to keep herself upright. She wasn't prepared to go claw to claw with her nemesis in this compromised position. "I'll have you know that Mr. Brull went to release those prisoners out of the kindness of his heart."

The other vixen smirked. "The kindness of his heart and the softness of your bed, I'm sure. Come now Stella, I know how the business works. I've been at it longer than you."

"That explains your always open mouth," the rat mumbled, averting his eyes.

"You've never been able to deal with competition." Pearl drew strength from her surroundings. This was her turf and she wasn't going to let Nelda Higgins gain the upper paw. "That's why you offered me a job at the Golden Brush all those years ago, wasn't it? Just wanted me under your control so you could remain the top fox?"

Nelda gasped. "I only wanted you to be among your own kind. . ."

"And then when I made this place better than . . ."

"But you've never been one to give a cat's whisker about what species you . . ."

"You went begging for funding from Sarkleyet of all creatures. . . ."

"WAIT!" Brull came to stand between the two vixens who were now practically muzzle to muzzle in their shouting match. "She's been getting gold from Sarkleyet?"

"For seasons," Pearl answered him shortly before countering her rival. "Sticking to your own species sure worked out great for you, didn't it?"

As if on cue, Zula stepped through the door into the chamber. "What's goin' on up here? I thought I heard shoutin'."

"Stay out of it!" Nelda caught her daughter hard across the muzzle with the back of her paw.

The force of the slap caused the young vixen to stumble back several paces. Both Pearl and Brull hurried forward to see to her well-being. It was then that the Oasis madam first noticed other bruises around Zula's ears.

"How could you do this to your own daughter?" Pearl accused the mother.

"Ha," Nelda laughed coldly. "At least I claimed her. I didn't hide her away and pretend she didn't exist."

The jibe stung but Pearl couldn't argue with it. She left Zula to Brull's care and limped toward the balcony. "I never even told him about his father. . ." _His father . . . Troaz . . ._ Again the vixen pictured her mate hanging from the yardarm of his ship.

"The Ships!" Pearl spun around to face the others, this time ignoring the pain from her ankle. "Marcion's been getting supplies through the blockade! If we could get to them first . . ."

The sheriff picked up on the idea right away and finished her sentence. "We could give squirrelboy a really bad day."


	52. Love Like Winter

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 50. Love Like Winter  
**_by Silisk _

"Pray tell, Ser Antonio," Silisk hissed, draped around the stoat's shoulders. "Why are we stopping here?"

The miss-matched pair were currently peering down into a trap-door set outside of Sarkleyet's mansion.

"I feel there is more to this red brandy than our fine host is telling us," Antonio breathed. "The cellars might very well hold the answer we see. If you can find any sort of clue about the location of the brandy, or… well… _anything_ about the brandy, really, it would be quite helpful."

The serpent paused, appraising the situation, before swiveling her hard gaze back to Antonio. "Very well. I expect you to come back promptly as soon as your meeting finishes."

Antonio nodded. "Of course."

Taking great care to keep his pristine sleeves a safe distance from the ground, he kneeled and Silisk slithered down his arm. With a curt nod of her head, she turned and was soon swallowed by the dark.

The lack of light and warmth in the cellars was quite disturbing to the adder. Granted, there were times in the jungle that an unusual cold wind forced Silisk into hiding, or when the stars in the sky refused to show themselves (rudeness itself!), but in either case there had always been sort of heat nearby for the snake to use as guidance. This was certainly not the case in these scale-ridden passages.

And Silisk didn't like it one bit.

"As soon as I find any sort of clue," she muttered to herself, "I'll be quick to take leave of this wretched—hsst!"

Several un-regal curses escaped the serpent as her upper body arced back from the solid object that had dared not warn her of its immediate presence in front of her. Flicking her tongue distastefully, she cocked her head; an odd scent emanated from the object, curling about her head tauntingly. "Hmph! How dare you, pitiful Thing."

Taking care, the adder gave the object a gentle headbutt; it was slightly damp, and she felt more than she heard some sort of liquid slosh about inside. _I suppose I am passing thirsty._ Now, if only she could find its source…

Gripping the surface of the object with her belly-scales, Silisk slithered her way up its rounded sides, coiling about the thing as if ensnaring prey until she had reached the top. Looking down into the Thing's hollowed insides, she could barely make out the dark glimmer of liquid. Satisfied, the serpent dipped her head into the depths for a taste.

Seconds later, she jerked her head back as if she'd been stung. "Pfhaw! What is the meaning of this?" she demanded of nobeast and everybeast all in the same breath. This 'water' was most certainly foul, and she wondered just for a moment whether it was poisoned. _Folly. Even the most base of footpads would dare not work in such a sloppy fashion._

And yet, strangely enough, the adder felt compelled to drink more…

Dipping her head once more, Silisk noticed with wonder that the awful taste left a warm glow at the back of her throat. She managed to choke down a few more gulps of the water, and the nastiness lessened with each one. Meanwhile, the warmth was dripping from the inside of her throat like sun-kissed honey, and in a moment of curiosity, she glanced at her belly-scales to ensure they weren't glowing without her permission.

"Well." She glanced down her snout at the liquid. "I suppose you are not a complete waste of my time, Thing." She made her way down the object the same way she had ascended, although she was caught by the word printed on its side, which she read aloud. "Rum."

Silisk gaped. "N-no!" She'd seen that word before.

Panic cleared away with the warmth clouding the adder's mind like a sharp bite from the north wind. _Intoxication!_ She had read about such things in the books she'd lived on as little more than a young hatchling. Only boors and ruffians allowed themselves to fall under the spell of spirits; certainly not something a proper Queen would ever do.

"Perhaps I am still ssssafe." Silisk cursed herself for the verbal hiccup. Clearly, she was going to suffer the next morning. She wasn't exactly sure what would happen; she'd heard it had something to do with hanging, but the page describing the symptoms had been missing. Regardless, she supposed it could only be something quite severe.

_I am perfectly in control. Now._ Steeling herself, the serpent set off into the darkness.

And smacked head-first into the Thing.

"One day I will be able to burn wood with my mind, Thing." Taking care that her path took her as far away from the deceptive object as possible, Silisk was on her way.

It was not long before Silisk found herself at a set of stairs. This she found out, as she had in the warehouse, when the ground suddenly dropped away from her. If she hadn't been so very _cold_ she would have given the vile architecture a piece of her mind. _Earthwalkers…_ she thought darkly. _I shall never understand your obsession with layers in your lairs._ It was perfectly silly, but then again, Silisk thought, that was why stairs suited earthwalkers so very well.

The stairs curled down, down, and Silisk was beginning to wonder just when it would end when she noticed a faint light flickering at the bottom. _Oh, wondrous light! If you would lend me but a measure of your warmth..._ She hastened to the end of the stairway, illuminated in dancing shadows.

Once at the bottom, however, the serpent nearly recoiled. The air was so frigid, she felt as if her scales might turn to ice. The torch flickering in the wall sconce had been nothing but an illusion of warmth, and she hissed at it.

Silisk froze; she could see her breath. It whisped and twisted up into the air like… like…

_Smoke._

The adder nearly died of pleasure.

The cold all but forgotten, Silisk reveled in her new power. _Finally! It's starting! Oh, I knew it would!_

Silisk realized that writhing about in circles probably was not the most dignified way of celebrating the beginnings of her transformation and so forced herself to stop and search the room. Only then did she notice the cage at the far end.

The serpent approached the bars. Flickering her tongue out, she picked up heat from the creature's fur, as well as its scent, which she recognized as squirrel. _Why is it locked up, I wonder?_

Silisk was close enough to the cage to see the creature sleeping inside. It was truly a pitiable thing to be sure; its fur was matted and its body covered in cuts and slashes, its nose nearly broken in from smashing against the bars. Its tail was more like a frayed rag than the great brush of its cousins. Just as Silisk was about to lean in a little closer, the squirrel's eyes snapped open and the adder drew back, shocked; they were clouded with red!

It let out an ear-rending shriek and threw itself against the bars. "K…Kill! Kill!" It snapped rotting and chipped incisors, spittle flying in all directions. "Come… I… Kill! Rip! Tear! Blood, blood!" The squirrel chittered and scolded madly, hopping about inside the cage.

"Poor thing. Completely out of its head. I should know."

A chill sense of dread filled Silisk at the familiar voice and she wished to whirl about and face its owner, but her coils mutinied; it was as if her blood had turned to lead. Painfully, she picked her upper body and turned to face the sable.

Castille smiled. "Surprised to see me?"

"How long have you been stalking me, villain?" Silisk had to force the words out, but once she saw her breath curl out of existence, she didn't feel quite as frightened. "It matters not; I have no will to bandy words with you."

Castille, in the end, was only an earthwalker. And what was an Earthwalker, save a miserable little pile of secrets? "But, enough talk. Have at you!"

The serpent arced her head back, swaying back and forth in preparation to strike. However, she noticed that the sable was doing the same, beady eyes locked on her as if hypnotized.

"Lovely serpent," he chanted. "Lithe, lissome, languid, serpent. And lonely! Slithering off on your own into such… hostile surroundings." He crept closer. "I, too, am lonely. I had been tempted to court Dear Antonio, but, you.." he smiled. "Come... won't you come with me?"

Silisk laughed. "Surely you jest. Come closer, pray, and I ensure you court with naught but poison."

Castile blinked in a caricature of innocence. "Your words are a dagger to my very heart, madam!" As he spoke the words, Silisk was aware of the blade that seemed to have wormed its way into the sable's paw.

Silisk, her upper body still raised, slithered backward, but even that motion was torturous. Her muscles ached with cold; how she longed for sleep! But she couldn't give up. She had tasted a glimpse of her future power, and she would not, _could not_ rest until she had drank her fill.

Castile lunged for her. The serpent struck on impulse, fangs flashing for a moment before sinking deep into the sable's arm. She gulped the hot blood greedily, reveling in the hiss of pain, even as darkness began encroaching upon her vision.

"Your cold blood makes you suffer." The serpent barely saw the blade raised in front of her. "But worry not, I—"

Silisk did not hear the rest.

--

"Finished so soon?"

Silisk drew back with a start, wild-eyed. She saw Antonio peering closely at her.

Her gaze flashing this way and that, the adder was shocked to find herself coiled up at the entrance to the cellars. _Was that but a dream?_

Silisk noticed a patch of cloth hung about her neck like a makeshift cloak, lending her its warmth, and dismissed that notion. _Castille must have only cut off a bit of his own cloak._

_But why would he save me?_

The serpent's thoughts were interrupted by Antonio clearing his throat. "Excuse me, Silisk, are you quite all right? Where did you find that cloth? Does it have anything to do with the brandy?"

"I'm passing fine," Silisk murmured. "As for what I found about the brandy, there was an earth-walker, a squirrel-beast, locked up in a cage. I do believe yon rodent was tainted by the red brandy. But before I could find out more, I was intercepted by that fiend, Castille."

Antonio's eyes widened. "How did you escape?"

Silisk shook her head. "I don't really understand what happened… it was very cold down there, much too cold for anybeast to retain her senses. He said something about cold blood and then I'm afraid I might have fainted."

The stoat's eye-whiskers furrowed. "That is quite troubling. I suppose he left you with that cloth. Is it some sort of message, I wonder?"

"Perhaps," Silisk mused aloud, twisting her neck to see if there was anything written into the cloak. "But regardless…" she turned her attention back to Antonio. "Let us depart. We can discuss the rest in the safety of that vile she-fox's abode."

Antonio smiled as he kneeled. "Indeed."

Silisk had just taken her perch on the stoat's shoulder when she remembered. _Hellgates!_ She stiffened.

"Is something the matter?" Antonio whispered.

She'd bitten Castille. Which meant he knew. And which meant none of the others could ever know.

"Not at all," Silisk whispered back, suddenly feeling cold again. "just a sudden chill. We mustn't tarry, particularly if Castille is around."

"Yes," Antonio said, picking up the pace. "Do not worry; we will be back shortly."

--

"Silly!"

Silisk picked her head up groggily seconds before being assaulted by a furry bundle. "Grk!"

"Oh, Silly! I was so worried about you."

Struggling to escape, the serpent managed to squeeze her upper body out of the vice-like embrace. "Zula! I implore you, not so tightly"

"Oops! Sorry." Zula giggled and let the snake go, who then looped her coils around the vixen's shoulders, the tip of her tail batting Zula's nose.

The fox turned to face Antonio, who was standing nearby looking as if he'd rather not be there at all. He had just let Silisk down upon entering the building when Zula had come running in.

"Hello, Mister Antonio," Zula said.

"Miss Zula." he responded with a curt nod. "If you don't mind, I must excuse myself."

The vixen nodded, and waved to Antonio before he was on his way. She turned back to Silisk. "I'm so glad to see you again. Where were you just now?"

_As nosy as ever._ "You must promise not to tell anybeast of this just yet," Silisk started, "but I was on a quest for information about the fabled red brandy in the bowels of Sarkleye's lair."

With her head close one of Zula's tufted ears, the serpent related her tale a whisper. The fox's eyes were wide with wonder, and she interjected with her own comments, punctuating the story with little 'whoah!'s when necessary.

At the point in the story involving the Thing, Zula giggled.

"What?" Silisk asked, somewhat cross at being laughed at.

"T'weren't nothing," the fox said with a grin. "Go on!"

When the adder was finished, Zula clapped her paws to her puzzle. "Goodness!" She blinked. "Castille is the beast who killed Mister Dirano and Miss Sybil?"

Silisk nodded. "Yes. The real problem is why he did not simply kill me as well. Perhaps he meant to leave me some sort of message in this cloak," she said, showing off the bit of cloth. Despite the dubiousness of its origin, Silisk rather liked having her own cloak.

"Hmm..." Zula's ears quirked toward one another, making her thoughtful expression rather comical. "I dunno. We'll have to really put on our thinkin' caps for this one." She smiled. "I'm just glad you're safe."

The serpent smiled back. "'tis a pleasure to find you in good health as well. Particularly amongst those barbarous earthwalkers." Silisk stared pointedly at the faded scratches along the vixen's cheeks. Zula shifted, looking away.

"That weren't nothin'," she muttered. "Anyway, Brull 'n Rekkua 'n Pearl are really good beasts once you get t'know 'em!" She tottered outside. "Come on, Silly, and I'll tell you all about it!"


	53. A Man Chooses A Slave Obeys

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

start of week five.

**Chapter 51. A Man Chooses; A Slave Obeys  
**_by Antonio_

"You fell?"

"Yeah, I fell," she affirmed. "Onto a nail…I'm real clumsy like that, mister Tonio."

The stoat found himself in an awkward mood, then. On one paw, she had just called him by the wretched pet name that, uttered by any other beast, would have made him consider clawing the speaker's eyes out. On the other hand, the expression on Zula's face was…she was just a child, after all. How was she to know better?

"I see. Might I have a look? I do have healer's training. If left unattended, a scratch too deep can become a scar."

"Y' certainly may!"

Zula craned her head, allowing more of the light to shine upon the affected area. He knew even before looking at her injuries that they were not caused by simply tripping and scraping upon a stray nail. Antonio knew the cause even before he had overheard snatches of conversation, little whispers of "that conceited vixen" or other such titles that did not bear repeating, although each and every one was more fitting than the last. Nelda was becoming quite the impediment. Disagreeing with the fallback location for the rescue attempt even as woodlanders were bearing down upon her, quarreling at any given chance with the beast who took her into her home, polluting the air with her rancid, alcohol soaked breath – from what Antonio had heard and seen, the vixen was not helpful in the slightest. Would that he was in charge, he would have her disposed. But Antonio was not in charge. Brull was.

"Mister Tonio?"

He winced visibly. "Yes, Miss Zula?"

"You're holdin' me arm a bit too tight."

He released it as though letting go of a hot ember.

"Terribly sorry. I am…distracted."

He felt a tiny paw pat him on the arm. "It's alright! It happens to me all the time. Why just the other day, I was in the kitchens, an' I was wonderin', how'd they make all the pots an' pans all nicely shaped for food and fixin's, 'cos iron doesn't rightly grow in the earth in that shape, dontcha know. An' then one of the other beasts, a big rat with a torn vest, he looked a bit scary but I wasn't frightened on account of his smile? He tol' me that they pounded 'em like that with a great big hammer, right out of a sheet of the stuff. But then that got me thinkin', what's a hammer made out of? Why, it's metal. So then, if the hammer's metal, then – "

"Zula?"  
"Yes, sir?"

"Is it at all possible that we continue this another time?"

"Alright!"

Antonio's claw traced the scratch all the way to her chin and almost inadvertently added to it when something thumped against the floor above them. Fox and stoat looked up.

"I wonder what that was."

Antonio's eyes paced from the door to the ceiling and back toward Zula. Whoever was upstairs was clearly trying not to be heard; the soft footfalls had a very deliberate tambour and pace.

Antonio's paw sought his chin. Unless they had stolen something, none of the 'guests' would have any cause to sneak around as such. There were beasts on the upper floor who might be able to deal with a possible intruder, but only if they were observant enough. Antonio had seen the rabble up on the second floor. They were not observant enough.

"Come, Zula, stay close behind me."

He kept his eye on the young fox as he made is way promptly to the stair. It was safer for Zula to come with him. A common tactic employed by the assassin was to lure the stronger beast away with an "accidental" noise while another scout went after the weaker beast. One of his father's honor guard had learned that the hard way and the image of his corpse afterward branded the lesson into Antonio's mind.

Zula's paw in his, he began to ascend the stair carefully until the subtle padding on the floor above broke into a calamitous racket. Antonio ran, dragging Zula behind him. More noises joined the commotion: a breaking chair, a door thrust open, banging against the wall, muffled, indiscernible shouts, blows being scored against flesh, the rapid stomping of a beast in swift retreat, shattering glass. Silence. Silence, save the soft murmur of a crowd. The stoat could now see what the disturbance was.

"How did a hare get in here?"

"Roof, maybe?"

"And none of us 'erd a thing. We all could've been killt in our beds!"

"But you weren't," Rekkua spoke up over the hubbub. "I could zmell t'e beaztz before any one of you could hear t'em. T'is one ztayed behid to hold me off while the other escaped."

The hare was out cold, Antonio observed, a large bump beginning to form on his crown from where the monitor stuck him. The stoat nodded to the lizard.

"Very nice work."

Rekkua flickered her tongue amongst a tense pause. "…T'ank you." He sensed what she wanted to say was, "Don't patronize me, filt'y zartachach," or whatever the reptile liked to call those not of a cold blooded persuasion, but something stopped her.

Antonio cast his gaze down to the hare. Woodlanders were all over this island, but few among them were hares. The only one he had seen had been the jailer who he had offered to supply with information. Infiltration did not seem the style of the Feldoh's Heirs either. Therefore, there was only one group to which this hare could belong.

Antonio nodded.

"More than likely he has information which we require. Rekkua, if you would be so kind as to carry his body downstairs for me, I would be most grateful. You and you, there are supplies which I will need for my interrogation. I will need your help in acquiring them."

The two beasts nodded. There had just been a large amount of disorder and now somebeast was taking initiative. They were happy for the instruction.

Zula…" He paused. "There is…there is something in the way of a supply closet downstairs, is there not?"

"I believe so, Mister Tonio. Saw it when I was helpin' t'clean up, doncha know."

"Show me."

*****

"Alright, yeah," said the rat.

Antonio's eyebrow wanted to cock in that moment. He kept it just where it should stay, parallel with its brother at a half-claw's length from his eyes.

He could not keep control of his mouth, though, blast his vocal chords.

"Are you quite sure?"

He could almost hear Brull's grating laughter at his foul-up. "Go nuts. Get what he knows. I'd do it myself, but since you're in a pleasing mood, it's all yours. Sides," he smirked, "it's nice you're earning your keep. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Antonio nodded. "Very well." He turned to leave.

"I will, though, ask one thing of you."

He knew it would not at all be that easy. "And what would this thing be?"

"I'm putting somebeast to guard the door. 'Case the long ears gets out of paw."

_Why? I certainly did not have any assistance knocking you to the ground in one blow._

Antonio nodded. "Very well."

The supply closet was larger than anticipated. Everything about the space made it optimal for the task, save the rather large water stain to one side of the room. It gave him a brown, moldy stare and so he had to rearrange the setting so that his back was to the vile mark rather than his captive's.

The hare's eyes blinked open. Internally, Antonio counted to ten, the precise amount of seconds it takes a beast to wake up, realize he is tied to a chair and, although he knows it a futile task, tug against his bounds.

_eight…nine…_

His ears picked up the distinct note of rope fiber's tensing. The stoat allowed himself a smile.

"No need to try pulling against the ropes, there's no use escaping, this room is surrounded, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera," Antonio drawled. "Now that we have the basics out of the way, what exactly would a hare, two hares, rather, be doing inside of a building housing more than a score of vermin?"

No answer.

"Maybe you were assassins. Maybe you had meant to 'kilt us'n all in our beds' as one of my colleagues so eloquently put it."

The hare had not so much as opened his eyes yet.

"But then, why were you not heavily armed? No poison, no blades outside of simple dirks and daggers and you were bested by a lizard. Clearly, you are no skilled assassin.

"Perhaps it was a fact finding mission. You are a woodlander on a vermin isle. The only reason you would be here is because you are affiliated with one of the brash and boorish groups seeking our destruction, correct? No need to confirm that. Even the most simple of simpletons could discern that much. So, perhaps you were here to do reconnaissance?"

The hare opened his eyes. He was rewarded with a grim smile from Antonio.

"No. Simple scouting is feasible, but sneaking into the enemy base only for the gathering of information? Highly unlikely." He counted three seconds, ample time to temper the tension, let the hare know where he stood. "Thievery, then. You came here to steal something, correct?"

No response.

"You will not at least humor me with some typical insolent statement? Nothing along the lines of, 'you'll never guess why I am here' or 'we will kill all of you'? No?" Antonio sighed, donning his best sympathetic face and tone. "Then I am afraid I have no choice."

Most would slam their instruments on the table in an attempt to assault the eardrums of the interrogated or possibly send them into shock at the sudden surprise of a loud noise. But start with a loud bang and you had nowhere from which to build. You moved slowly, gradually, just as Antonio did whilst retrieving his tools from out of the crate one at a time: rope, a chisel, a spatula, several spoons, a stick of charcoal, a bag of sand, some shards of glass, several hooks, a knife. Last was the hammer.

_Where_ did[/i] the first hammer come from?[/i] he mused.

Antonio reached for the knife, then the block of wood. Not once did he make eye contact with the subject. Grasping the blade, he slid it several times across the surface of the wood, each skillful movement rendering a perfectly even carve into the wood and equally perfect shavings. Finished, there were ten shavings in all. The stoat took a moment to set the knife down as well as the wood block, then re-align them with the other instruments at the table, of which there were nineteen altogether. A shame there was not an even twenty.

He moved around to the back of the chair, reached out, grasped the hare's wrist before his captive could properly react. The prisoner quickly became aware of the danger he was in, though, and so tightened his paw into a fist. With minimal effort Antonio began to squeeze on a specific spot on the beast's wrist, causing the hare to release his grip within seconds. Reading those medical journals on pressure points came in useful many years after the fact.

Antonio wrapped his fist around a single claw. In his other he held one of the wood shavings. Slowly, deliberately, he took the pointed end of the hard, sharp shaving and slid it into the place where claw met flesh. To his left he could hear caged screams rattle against the hare's clenched jaws.

He repeated this with the hare's other four claws on the left paw. By the first claw on his right paw, the hare spoke.

"_What do you want? What do you want to know?_"

"I would like to know why you were here," replied Antonio, his claws still lightly pinched around the latest splinter.

"The Brandy. We heard about the Brandy and we were sent to find anything about it that we could."

Antonio paused his movements.

"And your rendezvous point?"

"_What_?"

He pressed the splinter deeper. Though he himself was unaffected, the stoat noticed that the guard posted at the door was more than a little unnerved at the resulting scream.

"Where is your rendezvous point?" he repeated. "In simple-minded terms, perhaps more to your liking, where is it that you were to meet after this mission ended?"

"Warehouse…South side of town…a block from the Feldoh's Heir's headquarters…we're going to scout…"

The hare left the fragment to dangle in the air, much to Antonio's chagrin. He turned to the guard.

"Tell Brull that the hare finally spoke. We know where they are now, we should be able to use this information to our advantage."

The guard nodded. Antonio watched as he stepped out of the door frame, into the hall, out of view-

-And then raced forward, slammed the door shut, slid the bolt back into place.

Quick beating of pawsteps from behind, soon followed by loud pounding against the door sounded.

"Do you know what the difference between a beast and a slave is?" Antonio spoke without turning around.

Tear-strained, the hare's voice wavered, "What are you…what are you talking about?"

"What separates a beast from a slave? What makes them different? Have you not ever pondered this? No, I would expect not. Allow me, then. A beast _chooses_; a slave obeys." He turned from the door. This time, his attention was focused upon the table, his instruments waiting upon the surface.

"This island has had more than it's share of murders over the past few weeks, as I am sure you have no doubt noticed. Most recent and notable of these was that of a wolf, not all that far from here."

"The wolfmaid? The young one, the girl, her?" babbled the hare.

Antonio cast his glance at the captive.

"We saw it – her, the murder, the murder sight, rather. She…she…it was one of us who did it, yeah, but he went rogue. Woxley was out of his melon. He did the whole thing on his own, he –"

"I do not think so. What I know is that it is considerably difficult to dispatch a wolf. Pacifistic though their inclinations may be, they would no doubt defend their own lives until the death were they in danger. To kill a wolf, no matter how young, would be the job of several beasts. You had a part in the murder as well."

"No, I-"

"The question that remains, though, is not one of whether you did or did not do it, though. It is under what pretenses." He made his way back over to the table. "Did you choose to slaughter this innocent bystander, or were you ordered to remove an obstruction by your superior officer?" Antonio retrieved the knife, moved back over to the hare. The edge of the blade pressed ever-so-slightly against the soft-furred flesh of the shoulder. "Are you a beast? Or a slave? We shall soon find out."

Antonio pressed upon the blade.

***

Voices spoke at the door. His ears were too preoccupied with the wet sound blood made as it constantly pattered a rhythm on the floor. The hare was inert upon the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the instruments, knife right down to the spoon, bloodied and in disarray. His paws ached as he fought not to bend down right then to right them. He settled for righting his posture.

From his pocket Antonio procured a small, grey square. Held between thumb and foreclaw he waved it under the hare's snout. Subtle movement tore his eyes from the misaligned tools.

"Smelling salts," said the stoat with a voice as stiff as his backbone. Bending only at the knee, he retrieved the knife.

"You are mixed. At one moment, your fortitude is quite strong; the next, it wavers. Quite hard to read."

His eyes remained on the hare's face even as the flat edges of the knife slid along its chest, cleaning the blade.

"But you know something? It is very interesting, but I realized, probably about, oh, midway through our discussion on spoons and how even the most inefficient weapon can be turned into an efficient interrogation aid. Whether you are a beast or a slave matters not."

He took a moment to survey his most recent work. It was vaguely irritating that the hare had begun to struggle futilely against his bonds, but once he noticed that the majority of them consisted of metal hooks burrowed into his flesh, he realized the fruitlessness of the venture. The wrist, the neck, a perfect line down the chest to the pelvis, the hip, a broken, untouched strip of flesh all the way down to the incision at the ankle – the cuts were precisely in place.

"If you are a beast, if you so chose to slaughter my colleague, then you deserve a proper execution. Is this not customary practice in your walk of life, killing killers, eliminating those you do not see fit to live? On the other paw, if you are in fact a slave, tied to orders rather than duty and choice, then you should not live. Your life is already nothing. I would be doing you a service to end it."

The hare muttered something.

"What was that?"

"…I'm sorry."

Antonio blinked.

"Your friend…I had…nothing to do…but…I'm…sorry."

For a breath he was very aware of how sharply the door rattled against its frame as fists on the other side continued to pound against it. Antonio moved to the head of the table, where a rope to which all the others were tied hung taught in the air, trailing up to the rafters, leading to the network of rope wound around them.

He began to cut through the fibers. He could barely make out a wave of relief as it flowed over the hare's features, made wrinkled and disgusting by the damage stress doled.

"Cutting me loose…thank you."

"I am not."

A breath stopped.

"…What?"

"You said you are sorry." Half-way through the rope now. "I am not."

A sound smaller than the pounding on the door yet infinitely more powerful commanded his attention, a kind of airy whine, the sound of hope leaving a beast through his lungs as terror floods them.

"No…no, please –"

"Yes, I imagine she said plenty of those. She _had_ to be screaming her cries for a beast as far away as Aras to hear her. But you see, her knight arrived too late to save her. She died. Miles from home, in the arms of a beast who very well could have betrayed her, she died."

The knife cut the last fiber. At the sound of soaked tarps being torn in two, the mechanism finished its work in a moment's span, barely muting the throat-tearing sound that came from out the hare's mouth. Antonio's ears continued to ring from the scream a good time after the hare ceased. That thankfully blotted out the now fervent pounding upon the door timbers.

"You feel that, don't you? The rawness of everything. There is now nothing protecting the sensitive muscle from the harsh outer world." He procured the sack of sand, put a paw into it, flicked his wrist, letting fly the fine grains he held in his paw. The hare screamed again, a louder, wetter sound than before. "The sand, it was suddenly more gritty to her. The breeze, harsher." Antonio puckered his lips over the disgusting red mass he had transformed the hare into. He paused a moment at that thought and could offer only a smile to the fruit of his labor before he blew, forcing another cry from the twitching, throbbing red growth.

He dropped the bag, grasping the knife once more

"Forgive me; I have moved out of order. Before she was skinned, she was stabbed by arrows, one…"

Damp, muffled, thick thudding, a viscous impact all along the blade handle.  
"Two…three…"

Two more, louder, stronger this time. Part of the blade may have fractured off into the thing's muscles.

"Four, the last one into her shoulder, more than likely paralyzing her arm, if Aras's reports are to be believed."

One more, this one tempered by stiff bone. This time the blade had surely fractured.

"A dagger to the back thereafter."

The last was a harder, defter impact than the predecessors, accompanied by a crunch akin to teeth grinding against a wet rag.

"_Then_ the skinning. I have become a bit fatigued of late and my thinking is not what it should be. Moving on…the arrows…the dagger…ah, yes. That was not all…"

He was virtually on top of the hare now.

"She had another creature upon her back the entire time, fat, useless, over-cultured, pompous, self-righteous hare weight bearing down on her shoulders."

His brain gave not even a slight cry as he leapt from the ground to the table, instantly straddling what was probably once the red blob's chest. More screaming, more ringing in his ears – a full grin across his face. He brandished a small pen-knife of a blade, watching it descend as he spoke as though it moved on his own.

"And he cut into her with unsteady, drunken, swollen, infected paws, turning her from a living, breathing creature into a pile of throbbing, convulsing meat, from a creature of compassion to a thing with only sputtering its last arterial red breath left. A beast chooses, a slave obeys. Either I free you or I punish you."

Ever so slightly, the blade embraced the wet, sticky wall, soon nudging, soon pushing, soon forcing it's way in, torn down the mass of a body.

"Either way, it will be long, arduous work."

***

At the finish he surveyed himself in the mirror. A red-brown splotch dominated the left side of his vest. Unacceptable; he must correct this. Antonio dipped his paw back into the crimson muck, churned until an even consistency, each internal organ now fine slurry. With rehearsed artist's paws, he smeared his concoction over the right side of his vest in a perfect mimicry of the adjacent stain. Satisfactory at best but then he did not have the apt materials with which to work.

Now to complete his work…

Antonio flickered the lock open. Shortly after he turned his back to the door, somebeast spilled in. He recognized the voice even though the muffled yelp of shock.

"Miss Pearl. My apologies for the mess."

He turned to look at her. The vixen's paws remained glued to her snout, though her eyes quickly fluttered from anything within the room

"Did…did he…"

"I am afraid he did not betray much information save what I obtained before." For good measure, he pounded his fist upon the work table. That was what one did when they failed.

"Rest assured," he continued after he was sure he had taken the precise amount of time to utter a few strained breaths and appear as though he were trying to console himself with the fact that he had failed at getting almost any new information from the hare. "I will take care of this mess. You may go, unless you wish to stay."

She had seen, though. Though she may leave, she had seen what he had done. And she would tell the other's, no doubt. Precisely what he was counting upon. They would think him mad. They would become careless, let slip their secrets to him either through stress or because they viewed him at a mental handicap. Brull would think twice about challenging him. Aras would reconsider any plans he might have at double crossing him. Pearl…well, perhaps the only perk which would come of the whore being the one to directly witness his act would be that she would leave him alone, at last, and that kernel alone was not that bad of a perk. And the hare's would not dare mount another offensive, not when he would put the remnants of their last failed attempt out in plain view for them. And he hadn't entirely been lying about the new information. The hare had done more than scream before he passed out. He was on the strategic high-ground now. That was why he had done it.

Antonio cast a glance back to the hare. The one who was sorry.

_"I'm sorry…about your father. I'm sorry"_

The high ground. That was why he had done it.


	54. Breaking point

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 52. Breaking point  
**_by Pearl_

Black plagues, line a fading sky.  
A dying world stripped to the bone,  
Intoxicated by the madness.  
Blood weeps from open wounds.

And still the fires rage,  
Consumed, now chaos reigns.  
Our pride dissolved,  
The rise and fall,  
The breaking point,  
Burned and crossed.

There were still a house full of 'guests' who needed attending. It was disturbingly easy: falling into the place of hostess, lounging on the arm of a sofa, chatting up some male. She hadn't even taken note of what species he was. What did it matter, after all, what his snout and ears looked like if he had all the right parts in his pants and was willing to pay for her attention to them? Or so she had once believed. . .

" . . . when my mate took the madness . . ."

Pearl hadn't really been listening to what the beast was even saying but that bit stood out to her. She could help this poor creature, ease his suffering. Her features softened and she started really trying to hear to his rambling.

" . . . went out to buy some food for the whelp . . ."

_He had a young one!_ The vixen nodded sympathetically and ran a comforting paw over his brow.

"That's when those woodland chaps dragged me off."

"Leaving your little one all alone," the vixen crooned, caressing the beast once again.

The male giggled at her touch. "They didn't get my gold though. I've still got enough to pay ye."

Pearl stiffened sharply. "You think I would take food out of a babe's mouth like that?"

There was a time when she would have laughed with him. Taking his money meant that she could afford to keep Jasper in that fine house across town and continue his formal education.

"Ah," the male waved a paw to brush away her accusation. "The kit's prob'ly dead by now anyway."

Rising to her footpaws, trembling with rage, the vixen took the wineglass from the beast's paw and hurled it at the nearest wood paneled wall. "I won't . . . I would never . . ." she shrieked over the shattering glass.

Emma and Crystal, who a moment before had been involved in similar endeavors, were at her side in an instant. Between the two of them they managed to drag the hissing madam out of the main sitting room and out into the entry hall. They debated whether they could get her upstairs to the privacy of her own suite, but she was struggling so that it was all they could do to keep her contained.

"What did he say to her?" Crystal asked.

Emma grunted with the effort and then answered, "I don't know. I was on the other side of the room trying to talk to the wolverine."

The ratmaid patted Pearl's shoulder as the vixen began to calm down and spoke softly to her. "It's alright now, Ms. Pearl. You should be happy. You're home and you've got a houseful of guests to care for. That was always . . ."

"Guests to care for." The vixen snorted. "Do you really think that matters to me anymore?"

The wildcat sighed and relaxed her hold. "You've always taken great care of us girls," she encouraged.

Pearl looked from one of her employees to the other and shook her head sadly. "If I really cared for you I would have seen how much you and Dirano wanted to be together. It was selfish of me to keep the two of you apart. It was my fault that . . ."

Avoiding the unpleasant completion of the statement, the madam turned her attention to the other girl. "And I would have seen how much you wanted to have a family. I should have helped you to find your perfect mate instead of steering you away from rats for all these years."

Both of the younger females started to protest but Pearl raised a paw to stop them. "And that's not the worst of it. I let you all believe – let myself believe that a little momentary gratification, that making this . . ." She gestured around the grand hallway, "a profitable business was more important than spending time with my son."

The vixen wasn't sure when the tears began to fall again. She only noticed that her vision was starting to blur and her cheeks were wet when she brought her paw up to wipe her eyes.

"He's dead and I never. . . I never . . ." There were a hundred ways she could finish but she just dropped the sentence and went on. "All I have left of him now is Sandy, and I WILL NOT make the same mistakes with her." Pearl shot a look at the front door and then determinedly started to make her way towards it. "I'm going to find her. I have to find her."

"Ms. Pearl, you can't go out there!" Crystal threw out a paw to stop her.

"You don't even know where she is," Emma chimed in. "I – I could . . ."

The catmaid's tone stopped Pearl in her tracks. Could it be that the Felldoh's Heirs infiltrator knew something about where they were keeping her kit?

Taking Emma's arm in a tight grip the madam practically growled, "What do you know?"

"I – I . . ." the cat screeched in pain and tried to back away from the mad vixen.

She was interrupted from further explanation however but another howl of pain. This sound was coming from behind a closed closet door and could only have been uttered by some creature in great agony.

Pearl, frustrated by the disruption, let Emma go roughly and hurried to investigate. A few other beasts were gathered around the door but the madam pushed them out of the way and tried the knob for herself. Finding it locked so she pounded a fist against the wood. "Who's in there? What's going on?"

No answer came from inside the supply closet other than more cries of pain and the creatures who had been curiously trying to listen in were now backing away unwilling to appear involved.

Crystal ran up the stairs and began blubbering, "I meant to tell you Ms. Pearl. I was just coming to find you but you looked like you were busy and I near forgot all about it. It's that stoat, Mr. Antonio. He found a hare sneakin' around and he was gonna try and find out if he knew anything."

The vixen stopped only a moment to listen to the ratmaid and then went back to banging on the door. "Antonio! Is it you in there? I will not have beasts torturing other beasts on these premises! There are plenty of other ways to gain information without . . ." She wrapped on the door once again. "Mr. Antonio, are you listening to me?"

Then she turned back to Crystal, "My keys are on top of my dresser in my room. Go and fetch them, quickly." The madam gave her employee a shove toward the stairs and then turned back towards the door.

She knocked, tried the knob again, and gasped as another piercing cry rent the air. He was mad, truly mad. No beast could cause another that much pain and not be out of his own mind. Pearl decided that it would probably be better not to upset any further a creature in such a condition.

"My dear Mr. Antonio, surely you have received all the information that you are going to collect from this creature," she intoned more reasonably. "Perhaps both you and your subject could do with a little respite before you continue . . ."

The following shriek sent Pearl's paw fluttering over hear heart and she spun around to lean against the door, close to a swoon. As she turned however, she noticed the crowd that was still anxiously waiting to see what would happen next.

"What are you all standing around for? Somebeast go and find the sheriff or Aras or find something useful to do!"

Not wanting to see them all staring at her, the vixen faced the door once again beating this time until her paw felt bruised.

"Sorry, Ms. Pearl," Crystal ran down the stairs panting. "T'was dark up there and I tripped over Sandy's . . . Well it took me a while to find the keys but I got them." She passed Pearl a large ring of keys.

The madam snatched up the ring and began fumbling with one key after another trying to open the lock. Why did she have so many Fate's rejected keys? Why was this even happening? Why was . . .

The door opened and the vixen stumbled into the room only to throw her paws over her muzzle and want to run as far away as possible. There was blood everywhere. And the hare. . . well he couldn't even be called a hare anymore. He couldn't be called anything other than a mangled jumble of fur and tissue.

She vaguely heard the stoat apologize and knew she had to say something in return but she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would vomit. She managed, "Did . . . did he . . ."

"I am afraid he did not betray much information save what I obtained before."

Pearl nodded and turned away desperately trying to swallow down the bile in her throat.

"Rest assured, I will take care of this mess. You may go, unless you wish to stay."

The vixen shuddered. "No. No, please. You can . . ." She swallowed hard and continued without looking at him again. "But we need to speak about this, all of us: Brull and Rekkua and Sillisk and Aras . . . We need to have a meeting. Yes, you clean this up and then we'll . . . We'll all gather in the parlour and talk this over."

Then before she could wretch in front of everybeast, Pearl ran up the stairs to the sanctuary of her own suite.

~ ~ ~

The vixen had completely regained her composure before she descended to the parlour on the first floor. She was physically and mentally ready to leave this place as soon as she could . . .

"Mz. Pearl?" The monitor met her at the parlour door. "I waz told about yourrr meeting but I can not ztay. Kizaz iz not well. He iz mad at t'e Zattaka forrr locking him up."

Was the vixen imagining it or was female lizard also unwell? Rekkua's eyes darted about in a most paranoid fashion. She was tasting the air incessantly and scratching at her scales with her claws. It almost looked as if . . .

"I go back to him. I keep him in t'e bazement."

"Yes of course." Pearl nodded. "You do what you must for your family. That's what is most important."

The vixen watched worriedly as Rekkua weaved her way back through the crowd of mingling beasts in the hall. _Fates, not now, not on top of everything else!_ She wished there was something she could say.

"Rekkua," the vixen called out before her friend was quite out of sight. "Be careful down there. I'm not entirely sure what might be down there in the basement."

"Oh look. Here she is. Now we can start." Brull's voice from inside the parlour brought Pearl back to pressing matters.

She entered the room and closed the door behind her. No beast else other than those assembled needed to be privy to this conversation. Even some of those who had found their way in she would have wished not to be present. But she supposed it couldn't be helped now.

Nelda was sulking in a corner, paw choking the neck of yet another bottle. Pretty Ears and a few of the other rescued captives were there as well. Crystal had even managed to drag in a slightly nauseous looking male rat. The core of the party were however, those who had been broken out of the tavern jail by the Red Dawn and thrown together by Sarkleyet's scheme; those of whom had survived thus far.

"Thank you all for coming." The madam addressed the group. "I know our priorities are different. Some of you still seek the Red Brandy, others only wish to have your revenge on Sarkleyet or Felldoh's Heirs or the Long Patrol. We have all learned a great deal more about the situation then the last time we were all together and I believe we would be at the greatest advantage to pool our knowledge."

Nobeast seemed to be forthcoming so Pearl continued. "I know this island. I've lived and worked here longer than almost any of you."

This earned a snort from Nelda but the other vixen ignored it.

"I would be glad to share what I know but I must tell you all that it is now my aim to find my kit and get her off this Season's forsaken rock as soon as possible."

"What? No!" Emma and Crystal said in chorus rushing over to their employer.

Pearl patted the ratmaid's shoulder and held out the ring of keys to the cat. "Sandy's safety is the only thing that matters to me now."


	55. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 53. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury  
**_by Brull_

Brull didn't like having the ex-Brandy hunters in his parlour. Well, it was Pearl's parlour, technically, but given that the Sheriff had more or less adopted the Oasis as his head-quarters, the intrusion struck a personal note. He still didn't think much of Antonio and friends, and the sentiment was entrenched after the stoat struck him. The little puke hadn't even had the guts to stick around and actually fight.

And, Brull sneered, Antonio was sitting on the Sheriff's comfy chair, leaving the rat to stand over by a wooden ottoman. Ought to be a law...

Having found himself an adequately clean glass, Brull had poured himself a drink (Scarnose was an angel, the rat had decided), placing the bottle atop of the ottoman. It was odd, considering that the alcohol was supposed to be a depressant, but Brull felt sharper than he had the whole time he had been on the island. It was like he had woken up the dormant detective in him, who was now snooping around the parlour, gathering as much information as it could, relaying it back to the rat standing in the corner. The Sheriff loved when he was on his game; there was this wonderful inkling that he had a one-up on everyone else. When had he last felt this way? Not for a long time. Certainly not since he got on the island. Wonder what he had missed...

The parlour was still well kept. Actually, given this was a house of... ill trade (Brull almost coughed aloud at the thought, but stopped himself), he had been impressed with how the Oasis could easily pass as a completely legit place of operations. He had always thought that a brothel would be run down and seedy, but really, the quality of the house was pleasantly surprising: no dark corners, no creaking floor boards, no flies. Instead, the carpets were clean, the furniture was tended to, and the lamp-based lighting, if not extravagantly brilliant, still provided the parlour with a nice, homey feeling. How much did this place cost? Brull had to wonder, especially considering the rest of the city, as far as he had seen, probably didn't have establishments like this. Pearl had done well for herself, if she could afford a literal oasis in a desert of desolation.

The rat gazed sideways at the vixen. Early on, he figured he had Pearl all figured out: a soft hearted mother putting on a tough exterior, who was smarter than the average fox. Brull made a quick mental note that Pearl was far from the helpless image she liked to portray. Had to be, if she had this level of success. And here he was, thinking himself the saviour of the damsel in distress. Silly idea, the more he thought about it: Dealing with Nevyeer and Nelda as she had, escaping from the FH on her own... more to her than meets the eye. Now, did she cultivate the "helpless mother" image in order to get favours done for free? She did keep trying to make moves at the rat; possibly part of mind control via loins. Something to think about.

The Sheriff felt guilty for a second for thinking that. After all, the vixen had lost her kid, and anyone was bound to be torn up about it. And Pearl had always shown him kindness, which, a loose tooth and aching jaw reminded him, didn't happen all that often in this place. Still, the detective told him, something to think about.

Pearl was wearing a smart blouse and long skirt, nothing provocative. She was here to do business, not to seduce. Her jaw was set tightly, and her eyes were stern. There was nothing particularly motherly in her current demeanour. A small, occasional twitch of her tail and an absent-minded rubbing of her paws were the only signs that her nerves were on edge. No, she meant business, not holding paws and getting along while singing songs of joy and peace. Brull wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He vowed to keep an eye on Pearl, just in case she wasn't all right in her judgement. He remembered a case back home when a mother went on a killing spree, convinced that everyone she met had kidnapped her child.

Pearl's tail twitched. Brull sipped his drink. What was every other beast up to?

Zula was sitting on a stool, her legs still not long enough to touch the floor. What went on underneath those stupid looking glasses, Brull wondered. If Pearl had things deeper than what was shown, maybe Zula did too. The rat rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Wouldn't it be funny, if this whole dopey persona of Zula's was an elaborate act? Then again, if she was smarter than she looked, maybe it wouldn't be funny at all. Fates only knew what was going on in the young vixen's head at the best of times, never mind if it turned out she had half a brain after all. Especially considering Zula herself looked less funny than usual. Maybe it was the bruises, or the fact that she wasn't smiling for once, or that usually vacant look in her eyes was missing.

Rekkua was noticeably absent. Brull wondered why.

There must have been something about fire that attracted scaly things, because that snake (What did Zula call it? Silly? No, wait, it was Silisk) was coiled close to the flames. The serpent didn't seem nearly as scared or insecure as one would expect a relative stranger to be amongst others she barely knew. On the contrary, with a nonchalant flick of her tongue and keeping her head slightly aloof, Brull got the distinct impression that Silisk believed herself to be in control of the situation, and the rest of them were the ones intruding. The Sheriff sipped his drink, mentally reprimanding himself for not seeking the snake out on their first night at Sarkleyet's. He knew virtually nothing about Silisk, save she liked palling around with Antonio, and was therefore a potential inhibitor. Ought to keep his eyes on her...

Antonio was, of course, still in Brull's comfy chair. Overlooking his personal dislike for the stoat, the Sheriff noticed that he no longer sat quite as straight, and that smug little grin he had worn was absent. A copious amount of blood was present on his clothing, presumably from his interrogation of the hare. If punching out Brull didn't prove that the clerk had some lead in his pencil after all, then this certainly did. Admitting reluctantly to himself that perhaps he had underestimated Toni's position as a power to be reckoned with, Brull took a sip of his bourbon and promised to get the stoat back for hitting him. It wasn't natural, being hit and not wanting to hit back...

Aras was dominating a red chesterfield; even if someone wanted to sit next to the wolverine, it would have been impossible. The somewhat dour expression on Aras's face would have soured any hopes to get comfortable around him anyways. A pawful of claws scratched absentmindedly into the fabric of the sofa-arm, which, coupled with a blank-stare into the fireplace, indicated the wolverine was doing some thinking, and was only half concerned with what was going on around him. Funny, Brull thought, that he had thought Aras incapable of any real thought; who else but a complete moron would let themselves be ordered around by Sarkleyet when they could easily rip him to shreds? Still didn't make sense.

Brull sipped his drink. He had missed, it seemed, quite a lot.

"Sandy's safety is the only thing that matters to me now." This declaration of Pearl's raised a few eyebrows, and a mean spirited snicker from a certain older fox in the corner.

"Protecting that whelp because you couldn't save your own?" Nelda sneered. "How sentimental. I may just start tearing up."

Pearl stared cooly down at Nelda. "Just because you've sold your soul along with your body numerous times over doesn't mean all of us have."

"Only because no one would have a mongrel like you."

Brull beckoned Scarnose over with a wag of his claw and whispered something. The stoat nodded.

"Ladies, if I may," Antonio mumbled, rubbing his brow with irritation. "We are here to discuss important matters, not pursue the fine art of insults."

"You say 'ladies' as if there's more than one," said Pearl, still glaring angrily at her counterpart.

"Oh, I reckon me mam's a lady, Miss Pearl," Zula added helpfully. "That's what all the gentle-foxes say. 'Scept that one who asked why there was another todd in bed with 'em..."

"You shut up!" Nelda screeched, grabbing a flower vase off of a shelf. Before she could throw the thing, Scarnose, who had snuck behind the vixen, grabbed her by the arms, putting her in a full-nelson. Still furious, Nelda kicked and squirmed, trying to break free of the hold. "Pah! Search for your frog-spawn, Pearl! The little worm's probably got its head stuck in a sewer somewhere. Like grand mother, like..."

The slap which Pearl delivered to Nelda's face reminded Brull of the sound made when a wooden mallet crushed an overripe pear. Make that a mouldy pear, in this case. Having knocked her taunter speechless, Pearl tried to compose herself while Scarnose hauled the other vixen away. Seeming somewhat embaressed after losing control in front of all the others, Pearl tried to change the subject back to relevant matters. "Well, any ways, I intend to seek out Sandy. Anyone who wants to help me is free to."

The silence in the room was only interrupted by the shuffling of paws, or the crinkling of clothes as beasts tried to see if anyone else was volunteering. Brull became very interested in the bottom of his glass.

"...No one?"

Deciding to say what no one else dared, Antonio placed his paws on his lap and explained. "Miss Pearl, while your grief over the loss of your child is understandable, you must understand that given the myriad of catastrophes that threaten to overtake us at any given time, searching for Sandy takes a lower priority to most of the beasts here."

Pearl opened her mouth to object, but staring at the blank faces in the parlour, seemed to realize that the truth was both painful and obvious. "Sheriff Brull?"

Oh, why'd she have to go and do that? As if staring at a glass of liquid wasn't message enough that he didn't want to talk. Damn it all. "Miss Pearl, you know that I want you and your kit to be back with one another, sure you do. I helped break into that building just for that reason, didn't I?" He tried talking to her face, but the utter disappointment of one seeing her friends abandon her was too strong, and Brull lowered his head again. "But, I mean, she wasn't in that prison, or in the FH building, and I don't know where else she could be. And with mad martens running around and hares popping out of no where, there's just too many other things for me too look at..."

"So Sandy's not important?" Pearl stated coldly, cruelly crushing Brull's attempts at justification.

"I didn't say that. I'm saying that there are other things going on." The rat could feel his compassion for the vixen being rapidly replaced with annoyance. Curse it all, he had counted on Pearl backing him up in case a debate started between him and Antonio. Why was Pearl being so selfish about this?

"I know that!" the vixen snapped. "But if you don't mind my saying so, Sandy is all I have left to fight for, and some support would be appreciated!"

What could you say to a despondent female when she wasn't going to listen to reason? Brull wasn't certain what the best way of going about this was. Maybe truthfully? "Well, you can't win them all."

A groan from Pretty Ears and a mumbled "Oh, Gates," from Antonio indicated that that was not the best way to go about doing it.

Absolutely livid, Pearl didn't seem to want to hear the rest of Brull's argument. "Of course," Pearl ended the conversation just as Brull was getting ready to back up his case. He hated when females did that! Regarding the audience with the feelings of betrayal slowly dripping from her eyes, the vixen turned to walk out. "Enjoy my parlour," she said without feeling. "Clean up after you're done." And with that, Pearl exited the room, with Emma following her out.

The self-concious silence which followed was abruptly ended by Silisk. "What is a 'Sandy,' prithee?"

"Oh, it's like a me, but smaller," Zula explained. Then, less cheerfully, she wondered aloud, "I notice no one ever asks me for help..."

"Congratulations on bolstering morale, Sheriff," Antonio commented, inspecting his claws.

Sneering, Brull took an overlarge swig of his bourbon, which burned unpleasantly. He hated when the snide little clerk was right. That had went badly, and Brull knew it. But what else was he supposed to do? It was the truth, wasn't it? Spies are lurking around the Oasis, and she wants to look for a kid which may or may not even still be alive? See, he told himself, this is why you never get involved with females! They _never_ wasn't to talk about things. They just go on and on about little things, and they _never_ listen to reason... Thankfully, Brull found, his bourbon was more than understanding, and consolidated him correspondingly.

"If we can get back on topic," said Aras, impatient.

"How'd you get your shirt so messy, Mr. Antonio?" Zula asked.

For once, the obsessive stoat didn't seem chronically depressed that his shirt was less than perfect. "Our late night visitor was reluctant to fill out the necessary forms required to enter, and I had to convince him otherwise." Brull wasn't certain, but he could have sworn Antonio made a passive grin in the rat's direction. Was he supposed to be impressed? "The hare was presumably a member of the Long Patrol detachment present on the island. He and some comrades had heard of the Red Brandy and were trying to investigate. He also informed me that the rendezvous point was a block away from the Felldoh's Heir's building on the south side."

Realizing that everyone in the room was looking admirably at the stoat for providing this valuable data, Brull realized that maybe an oral analysis was in order. "Well, that gives us something to think about..."

"Presumably, that is why the hare was confiscated and interrogated," Silisk interrupted. The Sheriff made a mental memo that he didn't like the snake much either.

"For starters, it means Sarky's well kept secret of the Red Brandy isn't so well kept..."

"Ooh, do we have some brandy?" the drunken street rat asked. "I ain't had any of that since..."

"Wait, what's a Red Brandy?" another one of the escaped prisoners inquired, followed by several other curious voices. Brull had forgotten that there were more beasts on the island than the original ten that had escaped from the basement of the inn. How many of them were still almost grateful that Brull had broken them out of prison? Probably not grateful enough to not steal the Red Brandy and sell it when they thought no one was looking.

"Pretty Ears, see everyone out, save our new guests and Zula," Brull ordered. This was naturally greeted with some protest, but oddly, every beast seemed to leave the room once Pretty Ears looked at them. What was with that fox and his power of persuasion, anyway? It was something to think about, Brull knew, as the handsome right-paw bowed to the Sheriff, taking his own leave and shutting the door. "Now, as I was saying, news of the Red Brandy is getting out, and believe you me, every beast is going to want it for something or rather. That is, I'm guessing you still have it?"

Antonio nodded. "Yes, or at least, we have the box in which it is located. The thing is infuriatingly locked."

"Be that as it may, the longer we have that thing here, the bigger target we have saying 'Come and kill us.' Not to mention there's that Cast-iron bloke, or whatever you call him."

Antonio twitched. "His name is Castille. He is a sable, and I believe you have heard our reports on his actions."

Did in Sybil and saved Brull the trouble. Couldn't be all bad. "And I've heard enough. I say we chuck the Red Brandy and forget about it altogether."

This didn't please the stoat at all. "Not after three of my comrades have died looking for it in the first place."

"Three now, Tony, and how many more? Better to cut our losses."

"They are not _losses_, they are dead individuals with feelings of their own." For some reason that Brull didn't quite understand, using statistics annoyed the statistician.

"If I may," Silisk hissed, holding her head aloft as she was about to make the announcement of the evening, revealing an enlightened outlook that not a soul had considered. "The fact that the masses clamour for our Brandy means that it is valuable. To throw it away would be folly."

"And to keep it would be even worse."

Without waiting for someone to notice her up-stretched paw, Zula spoke up. "What if we just give it back to Mr. Sarky? I'm sure he'll like it back."

"No." Aras's one syllable answer was empathetic and decisive, and killed the debate as quickly as if the wolverine had shredded all dissenters with his massive claws.

Zula seemed put out that her contribution to this important meeting was being crushed without any consideration at all. "Well, if not Mr. Sarky, then what about Mr. Nevyeer? He's a little funny, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

The eyes of the Brandy hunters lit up. "You found Nevyeer?" Antonio queried.

Happy that beasts seemed interested in what she had to say, the young fox nodded. "Yup, he's got a nice shed in the sewers. And lotsa books. Ooh, I wonder if he could fix your puzzle for you, Mister Antonio?"

The stoat at least seemed to consider the issue. "Perhaps."

Amusing as the idea of Antonio trying to reason with insanity of Nevyeer was, Brull still wasn't convinced. "I still think you ought to just throw it in the sea or something..."

"You seem to have an awful lot of opinions over something that is not your concern," Silisk once again interrupted.

Oh yeah, he really didn't like the snake. "Course it's my concern! If something's going to get me killed..."

"You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with the Red Brandy," Silisk explained, with all the condescension in the world at her command, "and did absolutely nothing in getting it this far. You hardly have a right to decide what happens to it."

"Listen, you talking piece of twine..."

"Twine!?" It was hard to tell whether the insult or indignity was more prominent in Silisk's voice. "You fur ridden pest, do you know who you are speaking to?"

"Yeah, a snake who's gonna get a face-full of fist if she doesn't stop interrupting me!"

Zula's eyes opened in alarm. "Don't do that, Mr. Sheriff, sir! Silly didn't mean it!"

"Can we _please_ get back to business?" The wolverine, it seemed, was not in the mood for personality clashes.

"I think Silisk is correct in her diagnosis, Sheriff," Antonio announced, slightly smug that Brull was being shut out of at least one thing. "At any rate, the Brandy is in our possession, and we will decide what is to be done with it."

"What if the hairy things still want it?" Zula questioned. "They might not be happy."

"And that," said Brull, "brings me to point number two. Those hares came to this specific house, specifically looking for us. That means we've made a name for ourselves."

"That will happen when you light a building on fire."

Ignoring Silisk, the Sheriff continued. "It's safe to say that it's not going to be the Long Patrol versus the Red Dusk, or the FH vs Evnakt, while we sit behind a steel curtain and don't worry about a thing. We just got well and truly placed in this game, whether we want it or not."

"So it would seem," Antonio agreed. "But I doubt you are merely narrating the turn of events. What do have as a suggestion?"

"Now, much as I hate to admit it, there are more odds then I can count blocking escape, even if we could get enough beasts willing to board a ship. So that means we're stuck here. And if we're stuck here, I reckon we ought to establish ourselves as something that doesn't let hares sneak into their base."

"Ooh, you mean like if we got on Mr. Sarky's side again?" Zula added helpfully.

"Mm," Antonio mused, rubbing his chin. "There would be a benefit in numbers, and yet..."

"Forget Sarkleyet."

All eyes turned to Brull, who stood, he hoped, in a defiant pose, leaning against the ottoman and drinking his bourbon. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said forget Sarkleyet. Forget the Red Dusk, forget Nevyeer, forget the whole lot of them. No more running favours, no more cow-towing to nutty mustelids. We go into business for ourselves."

That earned a defiant laugh from Silisk. "You wish to cut your nose off to spite your face. I do not enjoy the marten scientist's company, but having some ally is better than none at all."

What was it that the Earl had said about foreign relations? "Having more friends than enemies?" Funny thing to remember. "Sarky's half of the problem. He thinks he can run the island, and if we do get the woodlanders out, I still don't think he's going to just let the beasts who know about his experiments just get off freely."

"So you hope to battle both sides of the war? To what end, persay?"

"Survival, persay. Both sides don't care a lick about us, no matter what you think. The FH wants us dead, and the RD thinks we're fodder for the fire. Why'd you think you lot got sent on that damn fool errand? Because you're expendable, that's why!"

Silisk hissed. "Stop trivializing the Brandy. As I have said, we have a valuable..."

"All you have," Brull spat, "is a valuable sack of..."

"Sheriff Brull," said Antonio, capping off the series of interruptions. "They only thing gained by creating a third side in a war is to give every other beasts someone else to fight."

"Well, unless every beast aims to sit down and talk things over, yeah, I reckon we're going to do some fighting." Practically hearing the eyes rolling, and feeling insulted that he was being dismissed, the Sheriff pointed in the air empathetically. "Listen, you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. We're rapidly approaching a last-beast-standing type of situation, and I'm not planning on being part of the hill of skulls for the victor to sit on. They hit us, we hit them harder." He thought after the killing of the freak-fox, the Brandy Hunters would be dying for revenge. Wasn't natural, being hit and not wanting to hit back.

"Your opinion of your own abilities is grand, if not absurd," Silisk scoffed. "If we must play this game, we must play it with our wits, not our fists." Smirking, she added, "which means, of course, you cannot play."

Furious at this constant condescension and far beyond caring about whether or not he was going to convince anyone of his plans, Brull dropped what he liked to call his 'business tone' of voice. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't remember giving you permission to talk."

If the rat hated being talked down to, it seemed the snake wasn't a big fan either. "Sweet... permission...you insolent cur!" Darting from her fireplace, Silisk stopped in front of Brull, raising herself so she could look him in the eye. "I ought to have you flayed for such an insult!"

"Aw, muffin!" Brull cooed in mock concern. "Did her royal highness forget that she's two acorns shy of being the size of a cockroach?"

"You are a vile, bloated, intoxicated meat-sack! It is a sheer miracle that anyone in this house of sin takes you seriously!"

"They take me seriously 'cause I keep them alive! How are you lot doing in that department?"

"At least we do not alienate the ones we swore to protect!"

Damn it all, that was _not_ his fault! And he didn't _like_ having Pearl angry at him! Luckily, he found that laying Silisk unconscious on the floor with a swift right-fist into the side of her head proved an effective stress reliever.

A shrill shriek burst from Zula before any other beast had the opportunity to act. Shuffling over to the fallen snake, the young fox looked positively upset with Brull. "You oughtn't hit Silly like that, Mister Sheriff, sir!" she chided him. "She's my friend, she is! And you oughtn't hit her."

Oh lovely, now he had Zula mad at him too. What a night this was turning out to be. "She'll live, don't worry," he offered as consolation. He noticed a hint of a smirk on Antonio's face, which vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

"I know that," said Zula, sticking her bottom lip out. "I know everyone thinks I'm stupid, but I know enough about bein' hit an' all to know that it hurts, and I don't like Silly getting hurt." And before Brull could apologize, the young vixen heaved the snake over her shoulder and padded out of the room.

Hating just about everything in the world, Brull turned his attention to his bourbon. Now he knew why he had so animatedly avoided becoming attached to others: because they always got bent out of shape over the most trivial things. He noticed that no one seemed to be trying overly hard to understand _him_.

Antonio was still here. Brull wished he wasn't. The silence in the room was a cover for the triumphant music that must have been basking the stoat. The rat decided to pretend that his nemesis wasn't there, staring at the fireplace instead. Knowing that no finishing blow was needed to cement his knockout of this boxing match, Antonio simply smirked in satisfaction and obligingly left the parlour. Brull doubted that he had ever come to hear the rat's plans.

Grumbling, the rat turned his back on the lounge, taking his treasured bourbon flask by the neck and, damning all manners, took a drink directly from the bottle. Well, he mused, that went poorly. Every beast running around, doing their own thing, with no set goal. Not the way to get things done. No, they definitely all should be listening to Brull. Of that, he was completely certain. Damn it all, he had a plan, and knew how to go about solving it! No silly boxes or clues or riddles. Of course, once again, no one ever listened. Leaving the conquering hero to save the world by himself, alone, as always. Wiping his mouth with a sleeve, Brull grumpily convinced himself to leave the ottoman in the corner and stumble up to bed.

And he would have, too, if he wasn't stopped short, completely stunned, by finding that he was not alone in the parlour at all.

"Sheriff Brull." The wolverine was either unaware of the rat's shock of his continued presence, or was immune to showing any more emotion then necessary.

Brull prided himself on not being phased by much, but he had thought that Aras had left with the rest of his usual group, and the sight of an unexpected, massive, claw-embedded juggernaut, who was staring very intently in his direction, was enough to make even the Sheriff balk. Coughing on his choked drink, Brull gasped out a response. "Gack! How'd you... caff! How's a bloke like you sit so quiet like that? Thought you'd left."

The wolverine didn't flinch through the rat's coughing fit. Rising from the sofa, Aras padded over towards Brull's corner. "Sorry if I surprised you. There are some things I want to talk to you about."

Having gained his composure, the Sheriff couldn't help but notice that the wolverine's wall-like body was all but blocking any possible dashes for the door. "Such as?"

"Your plan for the near future. Specifically, taking back the town."

Oh, of course, Brull mentally gulped. Made perfect sense. Antonio was sending in the wolverine to rub out the rat. Should have seen this coming. the stoat had spent more than enough time with Aras to win him over, just like with Silisk, and now they were all one big, happy family who stuck with one another through thick and thin. And with Antonio and Brull at loggerheads, with the rat acting as leader of a plan that the stoat did not agree with, he would simply remove the problem at its source. "Yes?"

"The others... they don't seem to like the idea of killing in order to get what they want."

"So it would seem." Now, how did one fight a wolverine? Brull was no light weight, but the wolverine surpassed him in just about every category. He intently gripped the elongated, glass neck of his best friend in the world, ready to sacrifice him if the situation arose. "'Course, I've never been worried about what others think, 'specially those who don't do what needs to be done."

"I agree."

Ikaras smiled, long fangs showing underneath his lip. The Sheriff noticed a hint of rosy stain on the ivory spikes. Brull visibly blanched as he put two and two together: It didn't take a detective to figure out how one got red markings on their teeth, but it would have taken a beast of steel to not twitch at the connotation that it implied. Screw fighting; Brull's mind rapidly tried to figure out how quickly he could actually run if put to the test.

"And that's why I want in."

Fortunately, time obligingly stopped for a quick eternity, permitting Brull's nerves to cease their rapid-firing as he stared blankly at the giant beast in front of him. If Brull had been penning the greatest mystery novel of all time within the last minute, then this was the plot twist that caused the reader to stare at the page, rereading multiple times to make sure it actually made sense. "What?"

"I agree with your plan. Removing the obstacles in the way of peace and escape is our best move."

A few blinks did nothing to ease a still rapidly beating heart which didn't know that the time of danger was over, if it had ever existed. "Excuse me," the rat mumbled. Not bothering with a glass, Brull removed the cork of his bottle and inhaled a good third of the bourbon within. His throat and tongue hated him for it, but his shaking paws appreciated his concern. Gasping for air as he removed the relief effort from his lips, there was something Brull didn't understand at all. "Why?"

Now it was Aras's turn to seem taken aback. "Why not?"

Rapidly shaking his head, Brull explained. "Oh no, don't get me wrong. I'm as happy as can be that you're on my side. Oh, good Gates, I'm happy you're on my side! But it doesn't add up. I mean, when I tried to run the idea of escaping by you the first time, on the night we were brought in, you shot me down as quick as you could."

The wolverine paused, nodding slowly. Like Brull, he probably couldn't believe it had only been a few days since they met either. "Things change," was the answer he provided.

Feeling somewhat bolder after his drink, Brull (with a slight stagger) moved out the corner, making sure that Aras was no longer in between him and the parlour door. "Nuh-uh. Things don't change unless something changes them, and I want to know what exactly changed your mind." There was still the realistic possibility that Aras was to act as a plant against the Sheriff's plans, and at the very least, Brull wanted a believable story as to why he should trust him.

Aras didn't seem pleased at this prodding, and with his eyes averted, gave a carefully considered response. "When all this began, I had... other obligations. To other creatures. And it seemed that staying on this island was the best way to carry out these obligations. Soon after, I found myself once again in indentured servitude, this time to Sarkleyet."

Brull interrupted with a quick laugh. "A big fellow like you, intimidated by that runt?"

Clenching his claws at the memory, Aras growled. "He knew of something which would... compromise my stay. He agreed to keep quiet about it as long as I hunted for his Red Brandy."

"And, ah, what do you know now that you didn't know before? What's switched your course?"

Staring the rat straight in the eye, Aras gave an answer which Brull understood and believed to be true. "I'm tired of being controlled by other beasts. And if I get off this island, and get back home, I won't have to worry about playing butler to creatures I could probably snap in half."

The wolverine's expression was set as stone: a furrowed brow, fists clenched in frustration, a small twitch in the gums at being held helpless by forces outside his control. If he was acting, then he was doing a fine job of it. Brull took a contemplative sip. The story worked, and was in Aras's character. The wolverine himself seemed sincere, and even if Brull was prepared to watch his new partner's doings with a scrutinising eye, at the very least he trusted him for the moment. "I'll buy that," he said, starting to hold his arm out before deciding that shaking paws would be a bit odd. "And if we happen to go against the wishes of Tony and friends...?"

"Then we go against his wishes. He'll probably cry."

That was what Brull wanted to hear. At the very least, the wolverine wasn't still on the stoat's side. Allowing some of the happiness of his liquid dinner to seep into his speech, Brull became positively cheerful. "Lovely. Aras, I'm glad we're on the same page. I thought for a second there, you were going to talk me out of it."

That brought something of a grumbling chuckle out of Aras. "Oh? Afraid I would tear you to shreds, hm? I thought you seemed nervous. Not many beasts indulge in that much alcohol unless pushed. You drink far too much, Sheriff Brull."

Brull didn't like being nervous, really didn't like when others knew he was nervous, and really, really didn't like when jokes made about it. Slightly embarrassed, he defended his drinking habits. "Well, we all have vices. I have my booze, and you have whatever it is you do to get those red stains on your teeth."

The quick shifts between surprise, suspicion, and possibly anger on the face of Aras hinted that Brull had said far too much. Making sure he still had the glass bottle by the neck, the rat watched tensely as the wolverine rubbed one of his fangs with a claw, which indeed showed signs of red residue. If his next words were, "You know too much," Brull was prepared to set a record for sprinting. Aras didn't seem to be contemplating murder; it looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to fabricate a story for his dental gaff.

Aras glanced sidelong at the rat, apparently deciding what to make of this. "So you know." A long silence followed, which, if tense, was devoid of Brull being killed. "And... will this affect our partnership?"

The rat blinked. The wolverine was the one looking for forgiveness for his actions? Of course: that was what Sarky was able to find out and hold over him. If it wasn't guilt, then Aras knew how his dietary habits would hinder his interactions with others. And how! Aras was probably the only creature Brull had ever met that truly intimidated him, and this newfound piece of information wasn't doing much to improve his feelings. But the wolverine was on board with the Sheriff's plans, and what's more, seemed to want to be a part of things. The thing would have to be overlooked.

"No, no, I don't think so," the Sheriff said slowly, making sure not to commit any more verbal errors. "I mean, we're both going for the same prize, aren't we? No sense in letting little things like cannibalism get in the way."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Well, it gives one's head a turn, if you hear me, and I don't fancy you should go around telling every beast about it, but so long as you don't plan on adding me to your lunch, I reckon I can get over it."

"Don't worry. You don't look appetizing," Aras mumbled, waiting about five seconds before adding a small laugh. Brull hoped that the statement was intended as a joke from the beginning, and that the laugh wasn't just an add-on.

Taking another drink (and recognizing, sadly, that he was down to a third of his bourbon), Brull tried to ease the situation by at least appearing understanding. "Stranger things done in the midnight sun, of course. So, tell me, do all wolverines... do what you do, or is that just a personal choice?"

Sighing heavily, Aras plodded back to his couch and sat down. "We used to, and it used to be fine, culturally. It was a natural source for sustenance, and provides all the essential elements a beast of my size would need."

"So what changed?"

"We started to accept limitations and rules, placed upon us by beasts who didn't understand, and were afraid because of it. And so the others of my species allowed themselves to be emasculated, permitting other, smaller creatures to tell them what they could and could not do." Closing his eyes, Aras took a deep breath. "The northlands are cold and barren, and the winters are long. If I didn't eat another creature, I would die. Simple as that."

Feeling chilly, Brull went to the fire place and shrugged. "Makes sense."

Aras made a deep, quick, "Humph," noise. "My logic for taking a life doesn't appal you? I'm surprised. Most beasts would consider it uncivilized."

Brull laughed, almost chummy. "You did what you had to do to survive, and that makes more than enough sense to me. No sense in sitting high and righteous while being dead, is there? Ah, I know, most of them wouldn't understand. A societal type like Antonio could probably afford to stick to his morals, knowing that he'll still have a comfy bed the next day, no matter what. That freak-fox, too, Rea. Getting her little 'magic-powers' for free without even breaking a sweat for them. Beasts like that don't understand guys like you and me."

The wolverine raised a sceptic eyebrow. "Like _us_?"

"Course. Bit and fought my way every inch of the road here. I remember as just a little kid, not a penny in the world, no idea where I came from or who my mother was. All I knew was that there was an uncaring world that didn't mind if I fell over and died. Started out jumping apple carts on their way to market. Know how much you make jumping apple carts?"

"Not much."

"Spot on. It didn't help that I wasn't smart enough to not rob from the same carter each time. One day he catches me in the act of pinching his purse, and out comes a gang of stoats who kick the stuffing out of me. It's a miracle I made it out alive. After I got back up and wiped the dirt and blood off, I decided that this was no way to spend a life. So I headed off to the Earldom of Meadowtop, ready to take on the world." Smirking, Brull took a quick sip. He found he liked reminiscing, and was glad someone had enough patience to hear him out. "Got a job as a cook, at first. Actually, that's not the right term. I was head potato-peeler and onion chopper. Thought I'd never get the smell off my paws. The pay was lousy, and all I got out of it was some crummy table they called a bed. Sounds fun, right?"

Aras seemed a little impatient with this sudden decision of Brull to recall his life's story. "Perhaps we should return to the business a hand..."

"Oh, I'm certain I could have moved up to chief soup maker in twenty seasons, and maybe even get a pension about five seconds before I died. You get it, right?" Brull asked, suddenly feeling concerned that someone hear his life story and not judge him (this wasn't like him at all; he correctly attributed his sentimentality to the few ounces of bourbon yet remaining in his bottle). "You see, I tried walking the straight and narrow. I know what beasts think of me: that I'm some kind of naturally angry tea-pot ready to explode at anything that gets in my way, and I solve all my problems with my fists. S'pose I am, in a way. But only because playing by the rules and being nice doesn't seem to get anything done. Work hard and fortune will come? Hah! That only works when you start out with fortune. If you've got nothing, you're going to stay with nothing, unless you make your own rules and do what you have to. Make your own breaks."

"Sheriff Brull, as interesting as all this is, I really think we should focus on..."

"Found myself palling around with a couple of crooks. Damn good ones, too. Had a paw in nearly every pocket, it seemed. So I joined up and did a few jobs with them, learned all the ropes it took to covering ones tracks and staying out of the public eye. Know what I did then?"

"Became a leader of a chivalrous group of thieves who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor?" the wolverine grumbled.

"Wrong!" Brull shouted, enthusiastically pointing at a startled Aras, managing to nearly tip himself over in the process. "I turned the lot of them in to the law, and saw each and every one of them hang!"

Aras blinked. If he had been only half-listening before, this latter piece of information had his interest. "You betrayed your comrades?"

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Brull grinned. "Betrayed seems a bit sinister way of putting it, but sure, why not? If it makes it easier, yeah, I betrayed them. Was it a dirty move? Sure. Was it immoral? Absolutely. And did I wake up the next morning in a nice warm bed, having been made a deputy of the law for my accomplishments? You bet."

"Dare one ask how you got to become Sheriff?"

"See, when the old Sheriff of Meadowtop died, the Earl needed to find a new one. No direct line of succession, y'see, because there were a few of us deputies. So the only way any beast was going to get the job was to distinguish themselves. And I tell you, there's nothing I wanted more than to call myself Sheriff. Still do. Nothing gets respect like being a Sheriff.

"But I needed a case. Something big, something only I could crack. And nothing big seemed to be happening in town. So what do I do? I make my own breaks. I make my own case!"

"...You committed a crime... just so you could solve it?" Aras pieced the story together aloud, just to make sure that the rat's intoxicated ramblings were somewhat coherent.

"Sure! Why not? So long as a crime is solved and beasts feel safe and secure at the end of it, no one cares whether or not justice was served."

"But how could you possible prove anything without pointing a claw at yourself?"

A sudden warning light pierced the bourbon haze in Brull's mind, stopping him just as his mouth opened. Aras had known her, hadn't he? Of course he had, they went Brandy Hunting, didn't they? He wondered how much he actually cared... No matter, better to give an abridged version, just to be safe. "See, I found this marten. Reckoned herself a thief. She's new to town and she doesn't realize that I'm a deputy. So I take her aside and tell her I've got a job for her. We had this museum, where a bunch of rusting and shiny things from who-knows-when are being stored. I don't get them, but the Earl thinks they're important, and certainly doesn't want them stolen. So naturally, I give the marten the information on how to get in and out with some jewellery, on account that she's more nimble and fit than me. So she goes for it and nabs the loot. Earl's furious, nobles in an uproar that someone dare steal their priceless relics! So naturally, when a humble Deputy Brull uses his incredible deducting skills to produce not only the stolen merchandise, but the thief as well, they promote him to Sheriff Brull! Now, how d'you like that?"

Aras clicked his claws reflectively. "You surprise me, Sheriff Brull. I had indeed expected you to merely be an angry, steaming tea-kettle. I suppose the marten in question died?"

Chuckling quietly, Brull finished off his bottle. "You should know."

"What?"

"I said I don't know. She escaped."

There was a long silence in which cannibal and a committer of mass perjury collected their thoughts. "Well," Aras finally spoke up, "I suppose we know one another's secrets now."

"S'pose we do. Heh, at least we don't have to worry about getting into something neither of thinks is morally ambiguous."

"An army of sinners, trying to save the souls of others..." the wolverine mused, staring at the fire. "We ought to come up with a plan, then."

Tossing the bottle over his shoulder, Brull nodded, as he waddled towards the door. "Right you are. How about in an hour or two?"

"Why not now?"

The rat grinned a wide grinned as he narrowly avoided colliding with the door frame. "Because I just drank an entire bottle of bourbon, and if you don't mind, I'd like to go collapse in a corner somewhere and die."


	56. There Are Monsters in the Basement

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 54. There Are Monsters in the Basement  
**_by Nallmian (sub)  
_

Wexul couldn't believe it. He just could not believe it! The whole time he had been held captive, the weasel had listened to the other males, mostly Evnakt natives who had lived on the island most of their lives, pass the time by telling lewd stories about the Oasis. The runty mustelid had been the newest on his ship's crew, and in time honored maritime tradition had spent most of his time in port doing work details so the older sailors could be free to carouse. After the storm, every able bodied crewbeast had been scrambling to try to repair the ship, and then simply to survive. As a result, the first time he had learned about the Oasis had been during his long detention by the Felldoh's Heirs. Now he was finally there, only to discover that its proprietor had chosen now, of all possible times, to have an existential crisis about her choice of vocation. As a result of this, he was now experiencing the unpleasant emotions associated with knowing that everybody else had gotten theirs and so there was nothing for you.

Oh, he had tried to catch the attention of the (very few) of Pearl's girls who were still around, but they were mostly very busy just keeping the place in operation for all of the beasts who were now using it as an inn rather than a brothel. The wildcat had completely ignored him, and the ratmaid was too busy hanging off some funny-smelling rat who didn't seem to even want her attention. His plans thwarted, Wexul chose the only logical response, namely going off to sulk in a part of the building with few other beasts present.

The sulking went quite well, and Wexul was considering throwing in some self pity or even a bit of sour grapes when suddenly he started a peculiar, whining screech that sent a shiver of primordial fear up his spine. Moments later, he heard it again.

"Uh, 'ello, is anyone there?" the weasel asked hesitantly, ignoring a sensible part of his mind that wanted to scamper back to the main lobby where everybody else was. A very musteline part of him couldn't help but be curious about what sort of thing would make a sound like that, and he nervously crept up towards the only door he could see in the area which seemed to lead anywhere he hadn't gone.

Wexul opened the door ever so quietly, and peeked down towards what turned out to be a flight of steps leading into the darkness. Tiptoeing down the stairs, the weasel froze as he saw movement in the darkness, and heard a wet, snarling hiss. Suddenly there was another loud screech, and then all of a sudden a tremendous commotion, with two distinct voices snarling and shrieking over the sound of claws against flesh.

"!!!!!!!!!!"

Wexul, far too frightened to feel any shame over the distinctly high pitched nature of this scream, raced up the stairs and burst into the parlor. "There's a monster in the basement!"

All conversation in the room stopped for a moment, and many different pairs of eyes turned in Wexul's direction. The weasel suddenly felt very warm, and very stupid. "I, uh was in the basement and I 'eard screaming."

A burly fox rolled his eyes. "Right. Because in the Oasis, the sound of screaming in an abandoned room could ONLY be a monster."

Wexul backed his ears as the rest of the room laughed and began to go back to its prior state. "I'm telling you, there's a monster in the basement!"

A grizzled looking searat shook his head at the weasel's stupidity. "Wexul, matey, yer gon' be a deckswab fer life if'n you keep this up." The rat stalked over and cuffed the weasel over the the head, then shoved him towards the bar. "Now go git me 'n ale, an' it—"

CRASH!

All of a sudden, a massive shape bashed through the door into the parlor and slammed the searat to the floor. There was a tearing sound and blood sprayed through the air, splattering Wexul and several others. There was a general panic in the room as some beasts rushed for the exits and others drew their weapons.

A side door burst open, and a prim-looking stoat ran into the room, weapon in paw. However, he stopped when he saw just who the monster actually was.

"Rekkua? Have you gone mad? Stop or—" The stoat was suddenly bowled over by a mob of panicked vermin who shoved through the door he had come in from, their bodies shoving him back through and out of the room.

Meanwhile, Rekkua had finished tearing into the searats neck, and looked up, glaring straight at Wexul, whose mouth went dry with fear. He had seen Martin's Madness before, but this seemed to be a particularly severe case. The reptilian creature's eyes were red, bloodshot, angry and confused. With most Marties, you coud see at least some comprehension in their faces, but Wexul knew without a doubt that before him was a creature left with only one instinct. The weasel froze in place, because once in a tavern somebeast had told him that reptiles ignored things that didn't move.

It didn't work. The monitor burst forward at him, and Wexul could barely throw himself to the side in time. The weasel righted himself and ran towards the bar, hoping to find either a hiding place or a glass bottle with which to defend himself. He dashed forward, barely avoiding another weasel in the mob of beasts trying to fit through the small door. This weasel was not as lucky the second time, and Rekkua ripped his chest open before bounding off of him and chasing Wexul. The runty weasel vaulted over the bar, displaying upper body strength he didn't know he had.

CRASH!

The impact of Rekkua's collision with the bar splintered it and caused bottles and tumblers to fall to the ground and shatter. It also prompted a sharp scream from a ratmaid who had been cowering in a corner next to a bar. Rekkua rose up slowly, shaking her head as if to clear it, and then turned towards the ratmaid, snarling. The monitor started to charge the ratmaid, but slipped, fell, and stumbled just barely out of range of the rodent. She began to rise again, teeth still bared.

"Leave Crystal alone!" The muscular but normally nervous looking rat that the ratmaid was always hanging off of ran up to Rekkua wielding a leg that he had broken off of a table. He swung it with both paws and hit the monitor over the head once, twice, thrice, and then one final time as the chair leg shattered.

Rekkua dropped to the ground with a shriek and lay there, momentarily stunned. The two rats both started running just as the monitor righted herself and charged towards them. Thinking quickly, Wexul grabbed a bottle of liquor that was still in one piece and threw it as hard as he could at Rekkua. The heavy bottle struck the lizard between the shoulder blade, and she stopped in mid stride and whirled around to rush back towards the bar.

"Hey, Uglysnout!" A pair of ferrets rushed up to the lizard, swords drawn, and once again Rekkua abandoned her previous target to pay attention to the new ones. Rushing forward, she bounded onto one of the ferrets. The mustelid's sword went straight through her side, but moments later she ripped his throat out. His companion rushed forward with a scream and managed to bury his own sword in her shoulder before her claws tore into his chest, followed by her fangs.

"Rekkua, STOP!" The voice was a young one, and Wexul was shocked to see an adolescent vixen standing in the doorway.

The lizard snarled and hissed, and lumbered over towards the vixen.

"Get out of the here, kit!" Wexul shouted, looking around for something else to throw. The monitor turned her attention back towards him, but before she could charge, the vixen called out again.

"Rekkua, STOP!" The young vixen still didn't run. "Rekkua, it's me. It's Zula! You let me ride on yer back so I wouldn't mess up m'clothes."

The lizard leaned in, towards her, but then leaned away, seeming torn by indecision. The entire room seemed to come to a standstill.

"Please, Rekkua. Don't be mad. Remember me?"

The lizard inhaled sharply and bared her teeth, but still didn't move. Her mouth struggled to form coherent sounds. "Z—zzzzzooolll…."

Zula's face lit up. "That's right, Rekkua! I'm Zula, and you're—"

THWAP! A crossbow bolt buried itself squarely in Rekkua's back, and the spell was broken. The monitor whirled around, heavy tail knocking Zula to the ground, and scrambled towards the other side of the room where a tall, handsome fox was dropping a crossbow and drawing a dagger. The fox sprung out of the way as Rekkua barreled into the wall, easily dodging the clumsy attack. Leaping gracefully onto a table, he whirled and threw his knife, sending it zinging down into Rekkua's chest as the younger fox, Zula, yelled for everyone to stop. The male vulpine leapt onto another table as Rekkua crashed headfirst into the one he had just occupied.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises." Rekkua reared up at the voice, only to be laid out flat when the head of the shoved crashed straight into the side of her head. While the monitor lizard had been preoccupied with the nimble fox, the male rat in had rushed up behind her with a shovel. Raising the shovel again, he hit the monitor in the head over and over and over again until the crunch of metal to bone was replaced by a wetter, softer sound as the monitor's skull collapsed.

The fox hopped off the table and walked over to the dead monitor, nudging it with his boot. 'Well, it looks like you have a bit more starch in you than meets the eye. You did a proper number on her skull." The fox looked up as several more beasts burst into the room with weapons. "Just in time, you lot! At least help us get cleaned up here. The rat here bashed the lizards skull in while you ladies were off getting your weapons in order. Meant nothing by that term, Tharissa," he added at a glare from a particularly tough looking weasel who was the only actual "lady" in the group.

A stoat came up and clapped a comradely paw around the rat's shoulder. "Sorry 'bout throwin' my boot at you the first night. Looks like you shaped up into a big damn 'ero, didn't ya?" More mustelids mobbed around the rat, only to leap back when the rodent proceeded to vomit on the floor, looking positively sickened by something.

The fox shooed the others away and left the room with the rat, leaving only the cleanup crew and Wexul, who was still behind the bar. Standing up, the weasel glowered at nobeast in particular.

"Now do you believe me about the monster?"


	57. I Expect to Be Amused

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 55. I Expect to Be Amused  
**_by Silisk  
_

When Silisk woke, she rather wished she hadn't.

A rattling breath hissed from her throat, born of equal parts pain and growing anger. How _dare_ that brute! He ought to be flogged within an inch of his sorry, miserable, barbaric life. Scowling murkily, she bunched her coils against the soft cloth beneath her and sulked.

Though she keenly felt every heartbeat through her skull, the serpent came to realize something else, something clammy and warm that seemed to be plastered to the scales on her forehead. She flickered her tongue, but couldn't detect anything other than it was annoying.

Silisk shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the whatever-it-was. She froze, shuddering vibrations through the floor a tell-tale sign of the clumsy paw-steps of an earthwalker. She had barely enough time to register to distinctive musk of fox before she was enveloped in warm paws.

"Hss-ah!" She gasped. _Why, oh why, must she greet me in such a manner!_

No sooner had Zula released Silisk then the vixen's tone changed. "Silly, why'd you have to go and get Mr. Brull all riled up?" she asked, paws akimbo.

The serpent's tongue flicked once. "Hmph! I regret nothing. I hardly see what you find suitable in that knave. He is a bloodthirsty dullard, more content with guzzling spirits than the health of his charges." A pause. "And he punched me."

Zula sighed. "I know Mr. Brull isn't always saying the right things, but he's not a bad beast. Really! If you just gave him a chance, I think the two of you could get along just fine."

_Not bloody likely._ Silisk, however, didn't quite feel like pushing the argument further, even if she felt she had no right to know Brull as anything other than recently deceased. "Well," she said, only content with getting the last word in, "he had best apologize." She shook her head.

"Oh! Be careful," Zula said. At the snake's questioning hiss, she explained. "Just a rag with a bit of warm water. Helps keep th'pain down, it does."

Although Silisk did not relish having to deal with that thing on her head, she supposed it could have been worse. And, the fox's comment piqued her curiosity.

"Zula, I knew naught that you had knowledge of the healing arts," the serpent said, nestling further into the blanket.

The bedroom door slid open just then, and both females turned to see Antonio step over the threshold. He nodded, and then closed the door behind him.

"Hello Silisk. Zula."

The vixen looked a little pouty at having anybeast walk in on her patient, but bobbed a quick curtsy. "'lo, Mr. Tonio."

Silisk thought she detected a subtle twitch from the stoat.

"Good day, sirrah," Silisk said, dipping her head. "Did you require conference with me?"

Antonio put his paws behind his back. "Actually," he said, looking down for but a moment. "I had wanted to see if you were feeling any better."

_Oh._ Silisk's words caught in her throat. "O-of course," she murmured, feeling somewhat sheepish. "I'm recovering well, thank you."

"Good," Antonio said. "I would hate to have something happen to you on account of _that_ creature."

Zula frowned, pushing her glasses up. "Oh, not you, too! It ain't nice to talk about beasts behind their backs, y'know."

"Very well." Antonio shifted. "Although, now that you mention it… I had been thinking as of late. I suppose I would like to speak with you about some things."

Silisk cocked her head. Zula's ears perked and she took a seat at the edge of the bed, looking at Antonio expectantly.

The stoat coughed. "Pardon me," he said, "but I need to speak with Silisk."

Zula nodded. "Go ahead!" She grinned and stayed seated.

Antonio sighed. "Alone, if you please."

The vixen's face darkened. She opened her mouth, but Silisk spoke up first.

"Why should Zula not be allowed?"

Surprise replaced the dejected expression on the vixen's face.

Antonio shook his head. "Please understand. This is not a matter of trust, but safety. I don't wish to involve you in anything more dangerous than the current situation. Which is already quite dangerous enough as it is."

_Even more so if a certain ignoramus has his way…_ Silisk thought.

Zula sniffed. "I'm not afraid. Huh, you go on about Mr. Brull, but he would have let me come with him if he had a plan…"

Antonio raised an eye whisker. "How are you so sure I plan on going somewhere?"

The vixen chuckled. "That's easy, 'tis. You don't like Mr. Brull's plan, so you're gonna try somethin' else. Somethin' sneaky, too, I bet, 'cause you're kind of a sneaky beast, t' be sure."

Silisk thought she detected a triumphant gleam reflecting off the young vixen's glasses, particularly in response to the look on Antonio's face.

_My, but you are quicker than you seem._

"Well, then." Antonio adjusted his vest very carefully. "It's good to have you with us, Zula. You're correct, of course, although that was a little further ahead than where I would have liked to start." His eyes narrowed. "There _is_ going to be a war, but unlike some beasts who… er, shall remain unnamed, I believe that a different, more subtle approach is in order."

The stoat was pacing, and Silisk barely noticed a distinct pattern in the number of steps he took before turning. The serpent sighed; she supposed he had a speech ready at any opportunity.

"Our first order of business is to deal with these Felldoh's Heirs. I think," he said with a small grin, "that nobeast enjoys having those woodlanders around. But thankfully for all of us, I doubt they will have much fighting spirit if they are all sick."

Zula blinked, brush tail swishing against her legs. "Sick?"

Antonio's face lit up. "That is our job. The three of us shall sneak in, perhaps see if we can procure some armaments, and then poison their supplies."

Silisk felt nervous claws tickling at her stomach. "Poison? Prithee, where shall we acquire this?"

"I have that under control," Antonio said, with a slow grin. "I have managed to acquire a good amount of undiluted red brandy from my last meeting with Sarkleyet."

The adder tilted her head, viewing the stoat with suspicion, but said nothing.

Antonio's whiskers twitched. "Regardless, we should leave as soon as possible."

"Not until Silly's gotten some more rest," Zula said, paws on her hips. Silisk remembered the damp thing on her forehead, and hoped it wouldn't be long until she was rid of it.

"Very well," said Antonio. "We will meet at the entrance hall in two hours." He glanced at Zula. "I suggest you rest as well."

And with a polite nod, the stoat opened the door and slipped away, leaving the two females to their thoughts.

--

The pounding in Silisk's head had subsided somewhat when she awoke next.

Uncoiling, she yawned, a bit of torchlight flickering off her fangs. Glancing to the side, she was surprised to find a small, tatty-looking scrap of parchment. Overcome with curiosity, she began reading the shaky script.

_I haven't the heart to wake such a beautiful creature. But we must talk, the two of us. As you will be gone for the night, so will I. Next we meet I will give you honey and gems, my sweet._]

There was no signature at the end, only a crude hook etched out in blood. _Nay_ Silisk corrected herself; there was no coppered rankness that always came intertwined with blood. It had to be a red ink of some sort.

"What's that?"

It was a wonder that Zula wasn't bitten.

"Pray," the serpent grit, trying to slow her beating heart. "Announce yourself before you speak, I beg."

"Is this… him?" Zula asked, ears flat against her head. Silisk nodded.

The adder was a little nervous as to why, exactly, Castille would be going out, but then she snorted. _If he disposes of a certain rat…_

"We shall deal with that foul creature one day, but now it is time to depart." She raised her head. "If you would…"

Silisk reveled in the cool air against her forehead once the damp rag was removed for good; she was already feeling somewhat better. Zula held out her arm, and Silisk slithered up and across her shoulder, looping herself around the fox's neck as a scaly necklace, shimmering in the bare torchlight.

"Oh!" Zula put a paw to her forehead. "I almost forgot!"

She unfolded Silik's makeshift cloak, and the snake allowed her to tie it around her neck. Just before the two beasts slipped out into the halls of the Oasis, Silisk couldn't help but weave her head up and around to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the door. _Why, yes._

Silisk frowned as the two entered the entrance hall; cold and empty. The two of them exchanged glances. _Hmph. It is most improper for Ser Antonio to be late._

Despite being a fair distance from the ground, the serpent could still feel faint paw-steps reverberating up through the floor, coinciding with Zula's heartbeat. Antonio strode to meet the two females, although a troubled expression twisted his muzzle.

"Prithee." Silisk hissed just loud enough to be heard. "What has kept you?"

"Aras. He wanted to have the locked box," Antonio said with a frown.

The snake shifted her coils in as much of a shrug as she could muster. "What did you do? You did not give it to him, I trust?"

The stoat sniffed. "Of course not. Anyway, we should not stand about. Let us make haste."

--

Cold nights. What good were they, anyway?

Silisk cursed the frigid wind as she clung to Zula's shoulders. If she had been a furred beast like her, she'd have indulged in one of those little shivers that she seemed privy to. But she could not, and so the adder simply huddled close to her cloak and let her mind wander.

_When I'm a proper Queen_ she thought, _I suppose it might do well to enlist Zula as part of my court._ She wasn't entirely sure what position would suit the vixen best, however. Regardless, the fox was proving herself to be quite an able beast, intelligent, and most importantly, loyal. Yes, she would do just fine.

_Now, as for this Antonio creature..._ Silisk flicked her tongue, inhaling his scent. Striding in front of them, the stoat was silhouetted in streaks of vivid heat against the freezing dark. _My. If it only it were that easy to really read an earth-walker._

The Antonio-beast was intelligent, cool-headed and quite tidy... except when he wasn't. She had not been present to see the torture, but she could not quite see the stoat in the same light after she had hear exactly what he'd done. What was it about warm blood that made furred beasts so _violent?_ Was it not enough to simply kill a beast for doing wrong?

This fascination with blood and suffering disturbed Silisk. Even when she was only a predator, before she had learned of the world beyond her jungle, she did not wallow in such filth. Play with your prey, and it escapes; even the youngest adder knows such a thing.

It seemed all earthwalkers, woodlander and vermin, were more alike than they would have liked to admit. Barbarous, vicious creatures who delighted in bloodshed and indulged in the needless suffering of others. And they called themselves the superior species.

Glancing at Antonio, she allowed herself a small smirk. _You are not a bad beast, methinks,_ she thought, _but still, you reek of primitive desires. Tainted by your warm blood and prone to outbursts most untidy. I shall have to keep an eye on you._

_Curious that Zula seems to lack this warm-blooded madness._ Before she had time to really think about whether or not the small vixen was actually a cold-blooded earthwalker, Antonio had stopped in front of the building. Silisk noticed something in the dark by the side of the structure that appeared to be a mass of something large and soft, all bundled up, but it was impossible for her to determine exactly what it was.

There didn't appear to be any guards around, but the trio pressed themselves close to the shadows all the same.

"Well then," Silisk hissed. "I suppose you have some sort of plan, then?"

Antonio cleared his throat. "Of course. We find our way in." A pause. "Somehow."

The adder held back an agitated hiss. _Lower than a worm!_


	58. Jailhouse Rock

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 56. Jailhouse Rock  
**_by Zula  
_

This was becoming a fairly regular little trek, Zula mused as she trotted at Antonio's side. The lines her friends were drawing between each other were growing broader every day. Yet, Sheriff Brull's idea was to go to the enemy headquarters, and now, a scant day later, Antonio's idea was bringing them to the exact same place. Maybe they weren't so different after all...So why were they having so much difficulty seeing it?

"Kindly desist with your incessant bobbing, young madam," Silisk's somewhat queasy voice murmured in her ear.

Zula pondered the snake's words. Not because they were particularly poignant, but because she only understood roughly half of them.

"Bob...? Oh! Y' mean like this?" The young vixen began to skip down the street, evoking a pleading hiss from the serpent coiled about her neck with each bound.

"Yes, that indeed. Prithee cease and...just stop, stop!"

Zula slowed to a walk, giving Silisk's scales a comforting pat with a grimy paw. "Sorry 'bout that, Silly. I'll remember t' prithy seas from now on."

"We're nearing the headquarters now," Antonio cautioned. "Zula, the time for jokes and loud speech has passed."

The vixen giggled softly into her paw. "Oh, Mr. Tonio, Mr. Sheriff told me much th' same yesterday, he did. You sound just like 'im, Sir!"

Zula noticed the stoat's uncharacteristic flinch at that, small and sudden as it was. "I believe you are mistaken, young one. I do not speak with as crude a tongue as that one does."

"Oh, I don't mean usin' the same words, Mr. Tonio. Yours are much prettier by far! It's just that y' say the same types o' things without even noticin' it sometimes. I just think we're all in th' same boat, really, an' we have that in common, but I think we've got more than that."

Antonio gave her a stiff sort of half-smile, the kind that said plainly, "That's sweet, but you'll understand when you're older." Zula was well acquainted with this expression. What more was there to understand? Unless beasts actually understood less and less with age. Perhaps that was it. It all seemed so simple to her; older beasts were always adding all sorts of complications and conditions to everything, so it was a wonder they were able to understand anything at all.

Zula's thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the headquarters. At least they'd managed to douse the fire, she noted with a grin. Antonio snuck them around to the back of the building, pulling open a pair of heavy doors that led to the cellar. Zula and Silisk watched the stoat as he went in first, padding cautiously down the steps. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, ears perked, tail twitching in unnaturally even rhythms. After a moment's inspection, he raised a paw and beckoned the pair of them. Zula plodded down after him, stopping at his side in the cramped, dimly lit wine cellar, much smaller and grimier than the one she'd blown up the day before.

"The coast is clear, but be alert," the stoat warned. "I shall make short work of these, and we'll go in search of the larders next."

As Antonio went to work with his bottle of Red Brandy, Zula perched on a firkin, watching Silisk's tongue dart in and out curiously, tasting the air. The vixen stuck her own tongue out, but all she tasted was cold air. What was so special about that?

Silisk turned her head to look at Zula. "Praytell, find you amusement in my mannerisms?"

The young fox hastily tucked her tongue back in her mouth. "Nope. Just wonderin' what you're tastin' in this air that's so good, I was."

"A drop of yon ale would do nicely," the serpent said. "A pity it has to be spoilt so."

"Cor, don't touch that stuff, Silly. Makes beasts act badly, it does. I don't like it."

Antonio looked mildly amused at that, but stiffened suddenly, as did Zula and her passenger, at a sudden creak of a door and footsteps. The stoat heaved Zula behind a stack of barrels, clamping a paw on her muzzle to keep her from crying out in shock.

Two rather disgruntled mice came trudging down the stairs, both smudged from tail to nose with soot.

"Bloody nightmare," the first said.

"Aye, and a waste of perfectly good ale t' boot!" said the other. "They might not be good for much else, but these Evnarans know their way around a brewery."

"An' then one of them just had to blow most of it up. I thought we'd never get that fire put out."

Zula grinned into Antonio's paw. The stoat gave her muzzle a light, warning squeeze.

"Can you believe Marcion, wanting all this for himself?" the second mouse grumbled, grabbing a bottle.

The first mouse shrugged. "Well, he's had a bit of a busy day, so he's entitled to some at least. Did you hear about the traitor, Gericault?"

His companion snorted. "Who here hasn't? Murdering dog killed his sister, Althra. Apparently he was working for the Red Dusk all along. What's Marcion going to do with him, d'you think?"

"Oh, I dunno. He's got him chained up in one of the empty barrack rooms on the ground floor for now. Probably let him stew in there for a while."

The second mouse raised his eyebrows. "And then...?"

The first drew a harsh line across his throat with a claw. "You know how Marcion felt about Althra. He's not going to let the beast that killed her live for long."

"You'd have to be stupid to get on that squirrel's bad side," the second mouse said with a shudder. "Come on, let's get this lot up to Marcion."

The mice exited the way they came, shutting the door with a dull thud behind them. The instant Antonio relinquished his grip on her muzzle, Zula wailed in horror, "Mr. Geri! They're gonna kill him!"

"Who? Oh, yes, he was the beast that helped you free the prisoners, was he not?" Antonio asked, his lack of concern plainly evident in his tone.

"Grah!" Zula snapped. "We've got t' save him, Mr. Tonio, Silly, come on!"

Silisk's laughter sounded much like a tea kettle on the boil. "Surely you jest. This mission is dangerous enough as it is without risking our necks for some lowly woodlander."

Zula was sure that if Sheriff Brull had been there he would have cracked some witty joke about Silisk being all neck anyway, but the precise words he would've used weren't coming to her. And anyway, this wasn't the time to think about that sort of thing.

"But Mr. Geri risked 'is neck for us yesterday! He helped us, an' he's my friend!"

"And he murdered his sister, apparently," Antonio added, still looking unconvinced.

"No, no, Mr. Geri wouldn't do that!" Zula was practically crying now; she could feel hot tears welling in her eyes but forced herself not to blink. "It had t' be that bad squiller—er, squirrel—Marcion. Please, Mr. Tonio, save him! He just wants to help us!"

She could help it no more. Her blink finally sent the tears bursting down her cheeks, and she sniffled miserably. Part of her wished she hadn't asked to come along on this escapade in the first place.

Antonio let out a deep sigh, the kind that usually meant one was about to do something against their better judgment.

"All right. We'll save him. But only after what we've come here to do in the first place."

~

As luck would have it, the larder turned out to be somewhat close to the room in which Gericault was being kept. Silisk suggested Antonio take care of the poisoning while they busted they otter out themselves. This plan was immediately shot down when they saw that the room was being guarded by several members of the Felldoh's Heirs, and so Zula and Silisk hid themselves in an empty room nearby until Antonio returned.

"What has taken you so long?" he asked them.

Zula absent-mindedly inserted a digit into her nose and wiggled it about. "Too many guards, Mr. Tonio. I gots m' knife, but sure 'n' if that doesn't make me a warrior wot can take on all o' them at once. An' I don't think Silly could bite 'em all fast enough either."

The stoat nodded. "Very well. I shall go back to the larder and make a loud noise of some kind. That should distract them long enough for you to get Gericault out."

Silisk nodded her approval. "A sound enough plan, sirrah."

Antonio went to the door. "Ready?"

"Aye!" Zula nodded.

The stoat slipped out. Zula and Silisk waited for a few moments before hearing an impressive crash, shortly followed by several pairs of footpaws shuffling past their door. Zula peeped her head out. When she was sure the coast was clear, she made her way to the corridor where Gericault was being held. Silisk slithered from the young vixen's shoulders onto the cold floor, where she kept watch for any returning guards. Zula, meanwhile, set to work trying to pick the lock with her knife.

"...Yer all neck anyway, so y've got plenty t' spare! Aye, that's it," she murmured to herself.

Silisk swiveled her regal head in Zula's direction. "Pardon?"

"Nothin', mam."

She might just have to tell that one to the Sheriff later, when Silisk wasn't around to have her feelings hurt. He'd be proud.


	59. Red Spy is in the Base!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 57. Red Spy is In The Base!  
**_by Antonio  
_

The one on the left wouldn't stop scratching. Consequently, he wasn't paying enough attention to Antonio. The one on the right, however, was paying too much attention to Antonio. But he wasn't doing anything save flapping his jaws and giving Antonio a good view of his missing teeth. They had replacements for those now, did they not? Even a peasant could craft a bead or some fishbone into a new tooth and insert it into the cavity. This beast's commanding officer was not doing a good job managing his men's hygiene

"Drop your weapon."

Antonio did not move. He held in one paw a sack of flour, the other a knife.

"Hesitation, gentleman, will be your downfall. For, you see, when one hesitates –"

Slicing a clean cut into the sack, he tossed it upward, raining down thick white upon the guards. The white screen soon mingled with red mist as the beast on the right and then the left had their throats slit. Antonio cleaned the blade as he fled.

It was only at the second hall he had to stop. Thanks be to simplistic peasant architecture; at least he had not wasted his time wandering superfluous verandas and pointless turrets in order to get to his destination. In addition, his two companions had done as instructed and remained in place as he distracted the guards. All things considered this was going well. Too well. The way fate had been behaving lately, Antonio expected to be doused with a sack of excrement at any second.

"No luck?" he asked.

"Not much good at pickin' locks, Mister Tonio. An' I usually lose keys when I have 'em anyhow. Tiny little metal doo-dads're hard t'keep track of, doncha know? Why, this one time –"

"Zula, methinks this moment 'twould be better spent upon a solution than reminiscing."

After silently thanking Silisk, Antonio concentrated on the problem of the door. There was nothing to pick the lock with, an unfortunate fact since it appeared as though the woodlanders had used the dullest of locks to secure it. Good security a big lock did not make. Bigger locks meant bigger keyholes, easier access to what was within. Yet without a lock pick, the sturdy iron brute did its job well. These locks did not break easily.

"The lock shall be impossible to break," said Antonio. He glanced around the room. They were near the prison area. Surely there would be…_ah-ha, just as I surmised_

The stoat picked up the sturdy bench.

"The door, however, should be a bit easier."

The door chosen to house the prison was not designed for such a task, meaning there was just enough space between the bottom of the floor and the bottom of the door for the bench's legs to snugly fit. Antonio double checked the clearance from the top of the door to the ceiling and, satisfied, pushed down upon the bench.

The guards thought they had heard something earlier, just in the other room. It was dismissed immediately, though. Probably the younger ones, drinking and carrying on like they had the first day they had arrived. You would think they thought they were on a pleasure cruse the way they carried on having a good time even when they were slicing through vermin. This was serious work and the children would soon learn that.

Then echoed the distinct bang of heavy door against ground, so loud that even if a body didn't know what it was, he knew what it signified – intruders. Spears and shields were grabbed in no time flat and before the first termite could escape from the now fallen timbers, the guards were out into the hall.

Five guards, it must have been, barreled down the hall. Antonio stretched his arms and felt wall on either side. He thought as much. Narrow hallways favored one-on-one fights. He had a knife and they five spears, meaning he had the upper paw in weapon choice as well.

"Zula."

The fox got behind him as the first beast charged. A spear tip whistled through the air towards the stoat's midsection, a target which proved much too nimble as the stoat wheeled out of the way, grabbed the spear haft, forced the blunt end into the attacker's chest. Winded, his enemy bent double and relaxed his grip, allowing him to force the weapon up to smack against the beast's chin. Twice. Thrice. A quick glance told him that the beast behind was now in range. Ducking low, Antonio brought the knife's sharp edge raking against the beast's ankles and finished by throwing the now more useless than before soldier into his comrade, bowling him over.

Three more remained.

"Zula!"

The fox, wielding a dagger, peeped out from behind Antonio's leg.

"When I give the command, you rush them." Upon seeing hesitation shivering in her eyes, he added. "Zula, I am counting on you. I cannot do it alone."

The fox wrenched her eyes shut and nodded.

Closer, now, the woodlander's eyes were on the stoat.

"Now."

Antonio lunged, feinted left, then swung, only to score air as a smaller fighter, entirely unexpected by the opposition, hugged the next attacker's legs together, stopping him dead. A kick to his pelvis sent he, too, falling into his comrade quick behind, and a stomp to the second attacker's head insured he would not soon wake.

One beast stood at the other end of the hallway, carrying a saber; a better weapon than a spear. In a breath, Antonio realized that standing between he and this final challenge was Zula. And the last beast was very on edge. On edge beasts make rash decisions, such as rushing their enemy and killing indiscriminately. Shuffling on his shoulders reminded him where Silisk had crawled when Zula had charged. He grabbed her off his neck with his free paw.

"Sir Antonio, of all the impertinent –"

"Silisk, I will throw you at this beast and you will bite him."

"But what of his sword?"

"That shall be of no concern once I have knocked him out of his guard. The key is that you lunge when the time is right and bite him."

Her coils shifted restlessly all around his arm.

"It should not be such a big matter for a queen and less so for a dragon."

This stilled her just a mite but he could still feel hesitancy.

"Silisk, Zula is closer to him."

"…Sir Antonio…"

"Um, Mister Tonio?"

Zula's voice caused both beasts to snap back to reality.

"The small rat thingy's passed out. Must've been too excited."

Not one to deny an opportunity, Antonio retrieved the saber from the unconscious mouse. Here was a weapon with class. An inspection of the blade showed that proper care had not been taken. Well then, perhaps not _much_ class, but more pride. A knife was to a saber as a gardener was to a knight; one was a tool, the other was a weapon.

A heavy lock was nowhere to be found on the door at the center of the hall, though a freshly carved peep hole and a makeshift barricade indicated that this was where one Mister Gericault would be kept. Short work was made of the barricade which greeted them on the other side of the door, although the bulk of it went to Antonio, the only beast with a pair of arms and moreover arms which were strong enough to lift the heavier items. The door creaked ominously on it's hinges.

A beast lunged at Antonio, gripping for his throat. His newly procured saber in paw, he bashed the beast across the head with the hilt. The stoat stood over a panting, agonized otter.

"Mister Gericault, a word of advice; assaulting one's saviors is not a very professional maneuver. In the future, should you find yourself in a similar situation, which probably will easily happen given the manner you have shown us in just moments from breaking down your door –"

"What in Hellgates do you want?" said the otter, clutching his head while his words trickled out pain leaden and sharp.

"We have come to rescue you. Although it is a decision I am beginning to now regret. You should know that we undertook a very sizable risk – "

"Get out!"

"…Pardon?"

"Fool earthcrawler, he speaks the truth. We ventured far from our stronghold to free you from his dungeon. Hist and pray, we have felled yon guardsbeasts beyond this door."

Talk from a snake was under the best circumstances taken with some small level of skepticism. The best circumstances were not ones in which a woodlander was to believe a story given by a vermin and backed up by a natural predator.

"So you've assaulted the Heirs. All the more power to you all, best of wishes in killing Marcion, but if you're going to kill me, best not muck around with my head first with trickery; just kill me."

"But Geri, if we killed you, who would come back with us to our…what word did you use, Silly?"

"Stronghold."

"String-hold."

Zula's intervention captured Gericault's attention.

"Zula?"

"Why, o'course it's me, Geri, who else could I be? Only one me, doncha' know."

The roof panels were suddenly aflutter with activity. A great collection of beasts were stomping upon the floor above.

"Time for reunion must needs be shortened, Miss Zula, Mister Gericault, least we wish to perish here." He looked about the room, distracted by how the color of the lumpy mattress clashed with the walls, how wisps of dust and mites swirled about. "And I can think of better, more sanitary places in which to pass on."

Out into the hallway they ran, with Gericault leaning upon Antonio's shoulder, stepping over the fallen woodlanders. A fallen mouse gave a groan that soon began to increase in volume. Antonio's saber came crashing down into his skull, the point twisting to render him silent.

"You…"

"Please, Mister Gericault, you will tell me that you have sympathy for the beasts who kept you captive, yes? This beast would have killed you without so much remorse as you claim to have. He was threatening to alert them to our prescience. I denied him that opportunity."

Unimpressed, Gericault nearly snarled "Wouldn't the door you knocked over and the racket from your fighting the guards be enough on it's own to alert them?"

"…That is beside the point, I –"

"Scales and fangs, your prattling is useless! Away with us now, before they find us!"

Silisk having brought them back to reality, the quartet rushed out the narrow hall, into the larger, twisting into a network of wooden alleys and passageways.

"Up the stair!"

Despite the extra weight of a practically incapacitated Gericult, they gained on the landing with all the speed of four beasts being persued by an entire army upon their heels, which was probably very well the case. Pawsteps became louder and ceased. They were close now and he could begin to sight most of them.

On the landing now, they charged back towards their entry point only to discover a force a score in number blocking their path. A quick spin around and a retreat lasting four fleet steps revealed the same on their opposite side. Enemies on either flank, empty space and a several foot drop in front and behind, the only difference being a banister in the way of one and a windowpane in the way of another.

Antonio's eyes widened in recognition, although he kept a tight hold on them to keep it from showing. He faced the oncoming hoards and proclaimed, "Typically, this would be the time for a clever retort." Taking Gericault's arm over his shoulder and Zula's paw tightly in his free paw, he turned towards the window. "But these are not typical times."

Smashing glass peeled away all sound as well as some flesh upon the stoat's arms. Then they fell, nay, plunged with stomach wrenching force down into the soft debris the stoat was careful to previously note. Although, he hadn't been expecting the sudden, harsh stop that forced bone into bone and organ into organ.

They staggered to their footpaws, Gericult the last to rise and luckily the least injured of the group. Silisk, too, seemed to have faired reasonably well atop Zula's narrow shoulders. The small vixen in question, however, may have been injured, but it was too dark to tell. Yet, the bag she had been carrying, full of weapons and some supplies, hadn't taken too well to hurtling into a debris pile. Torn fibers announced their discomfort in a grating, ripping tone as they ruptured further to the sound of a few armaments clattering out and onto the ground.

"Leave them, we must make haste away!" shouted Antonio.

Down the alleys they flew. Actually, in all honesty their movement in comparison to flight was more like a disoriented flap, rife with uncoordinated undulations, trips due to injuries and squawked curses from nearly every party excluding Zula, although Antonio was a bit leery when somebeast shouted, "jiminy-lintstick!"

Many twists and turns lead the group to an abandoned building the stoat deemed safe for taking cover within. They were just far enough away from the pursuing woodlanders and the building was just secluded, just dilapidated, just decaying enough so as to allow some small hiding catches. Antonio debated repealing his decision for a moment.

Camp staples were assembled under the stoat's precise scrutiny. Fire was lit in a secluded area, makeshift beds were arranged and supplies were spread out in the warm glow.

"What kind of a beast spends that much time setting a fire?"

Antonio shot the crass otter a glance that could only be shot and not simply given. "A beast who just rescued you from execution."

Besides, was it his fault that none of the tinder he had been able to scrape together consisted of straight figures? How could one be expected to construct a proper, symmetrical lean-to with faulty parts?

Realizing where his current mode of thought was leading, Antonio caged his thoughts, staring into the fire as he heard his urges rattle and groan like the wood in the flame.

"Score."

Eyebrows lifted all around.

"That's how much weapon's we have. A score. I know I heard somebeast use that word and whoever it was, maybe it was Mister Brull or…anyway, it's a fancy way of saying twenty," reported Zula, who had been counting the gathered armaments.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Positive. Counted them meself and there's nobeast I'd trust more than meself! Plus, you gave me a lot of extra time t'count 'em when you took so long with the fire, doncha know."

"…Yes, quite."

Soon, rattling alongside his captive urges were curses and oaths, not at the poor, slightly daft vixen but at the undeniable fact that the weapons they had gathered would only serve a small fraction of the forces they possessed. This was, of course, without considering how many among the weapons could be defects or improperly made.

_Still,_ a thought tugged at the hem of his mind, _The woodlanders are poisoned and you have acquired an informant, not to mention a new, formidable weapon._

The stoat weighed the saber in his paws – half-an-ounce off balance. Mildly effective at best.

"Why did you save me?"

This earned the otter a cocked eyebrow from Antonio and a look from Silisk that, though confined to her limited reptilian expression, could have only been one of deep resentment.

"Are you not grateful? Would you rather we left you there to be slain by your so-called comrades?"

"Didn't mean t'rub you the wrong way. I'd rather be out here in the cold, not sure if I was going to live or die then, well, in there in the cold, pretty sure that I was going to die. But I know one thing and that's few beasts do somethin' like riskin' great personal injury without expecting something in return."

"Geri, we were jus' tryin' t'help is all!"

"It was Zula's request that we retrieve you and escort you out of the base," said Antonio "However, if I may be completely honest, you are quite right in your accusation. There was another motive because of which we removed you from that prison." He wished Zula would not look at him with such shocked eyes, made all the more bigger by her thick spectacles. "You were one of the enemy. You could make quite a veritable source of information."

"Supposin' I refuse?"

The stoat remained stone faced.

"Tell me, in which condition do you think the odds of your survival are more favorable; as a willing informant amongst enemy troops or as a prisoner whom we will undoubtedly have to interrogate in order to obtain information?"

Through his worn face burst through a mixture of fear and disgust.

"I'm not about to get my friends killed by –"

"I would ask you to remember who it was who imprisoned you and was about to execute you for crimes you clearly did not commit. And, furthermore, who prevented such a fate from occurring." A pause. "You shall be given time to deliberate. We must remain here for the night."

Only the fire offered any conversation from that point on, although it was always very one-sided and full of annoying clicks and clacks as wood and building parts burst under the heat. Antonio felt himself jarred by the noise, each pop an uneven, random beat, compounded by the overall asymmetrical nature of the fire.

"Sir Antonio."

Silisk had spoken so soft that Antonio had barely heard her.

"There is something that, of late, hast been on my mind."

Antonio, with his best knowing smile, nodded his head and closed his eyes.

"You desire to know why I brutalized that hare, do you not?"

Silisk's silence was answer enough. Antonio opened his eyes and looked at her. One could not read a snake. They were not creatures created with the proper number of muscles in the face or very many mannerisms for that matter. He found, though, that he admired that aspect, if only a mite. Reptiles certainly had an easier time keeping secrets.

"Very well. As I expect that my answer will not leave our present company any time soon,"

_And should it, I would hate to imagine the consequences,_ he hinted with his face more than outright vocalized. He did not vocalize it because he did not need to. Antonio's relationship with the serpent was beyond such tactics, threats and leverage. It had begun to move into genuine trust. Still, the stoat could not repress small shades of his typical habits.

"Rea said that I was a prince. This is true. But, it is not something that I enjoy…I do not like to discuss this. Such information is a personal danger to even tell to a passing stranger and, moreover, I do not enjoy being reminded of what I do not have." His countenance stiffened as he spoke, he notice. Antonio took a breath, tried to relax. "This is something that I have never told anybeast outside of my father's royal guard. And yet she knew. And she seemed to understand how…" He adjusted his abhorrent posture. "Shortly after she told me she felt sorry for what had befallen my father. I was insulted. I needed no pity. Yet, after dwelling upon this, considering what was said and what I felt…it is weakness to admit such things, but I felt, how best to say it…privileged to at last have somebeast who might share what I felt, without the pain of revisiting that moment.

"Sybil left us. And then Rea. I have grown so weary of losing. So, as you can imagine, I was, for lack of a better term, quite peeved at the hare."

Silisk's tail twitched at his response. "Prithee, why not simply execute the hare?"

Antonio straightened up and his ears perked. "Indeed, why did not the hare simply execute Rea if he saw her as an enemy?"

Transparent lids closed over the snake's eyes. She seemed to nod. "I think I understand."

"With all respects, I do not believe that you do."

Antonio found his fist tightening at the very thought. What would she know? How could she sit there on a bed of her own filthy flesh and judge his actions? What knew she of loss?

"You forget, sir Antonio, that I, too, had a kingdom of my own stolen as well."

His fist loosened. "This is true. Forgive me my assumption. Perhaps we have more alike after all."

He stared at the snake for a good while before his eyes returned to the fire, the trembling, asymmetrical wave of energy and heat, swirling about with no direction. Unfocused. Un-harnessed. Lost.

Antonio's back straightened all on its own. There was another thing he and the fire did not have in common. Besides being far more symmetrical and well-put together than the fire – his paws darted to his whiskers suddenly, making sure this statement was true and coming away satisfied – he was focused. He had a goal. He simply needed to wait until everybeast was asleep before he could execute it.

__

"So, again, I appeal to you, mister Sarkeleyet," said Antonio with drawl measured under an apothecary's scope, "Pray, where would be another place I could find the Brandy?"

His target kept still. Sarkeleyet must have thought himself very clever, with his small smiles and nods and tiny niceties he believed cloaked the cold hostility beneath his hide. It did all the good of a match in a flurry. Lurking just behind his words, in between every sentence, Antonio could tell that he did not trust him. He knew, though, that this lord of a crumbling domain had no choice. Antonio was fast becoming Sarkeleyet's only link to the outside world and his much sought after Brandy. His own guards and mercenaries were much too busy guarding their master or fending off the invading woodlanders. There weren't even any guards in the room with them now, a far cry from how things had been when last he was here.

"I know not of many a place that would be as much of a likely location of the Brandy as the warehouse."

"Surely there is something you could tell, or perhaps, show me that would aid in its retrieval?" Antonio urged, skillfully preventing the marten from sinking again into one of his boorish tirades. His head was still aching from his obscenely long speech about how "unfortunate" it was that poor Dirano had been slain or "what a pitty" it was that "dear Sybil" had befallen such a nasty end. Perhaps, Antonio realized, Aras's reaction to defy Sarkeleyet had been more logical than his own; the stoat's hollow words did nothing to refute the possibility that they were after all just pawns to him.

Still, he reminded himself as Sarkeleyet retrieved a box from beneath this desk, he wasn't here for Sakeleyet's sake. A neat row of quarks poked out from the top of the packing material

"However, if you are in need of a visual aide, look no further." He gestured at the box with a flourish, which was pure amateur technique, really. This was a situation that any simpleton knew had to be played straight.

"Why did you not tell us of this before?" said Antonio, immediately cursing himself for letting even that drop of anger enter into his voice. Still, why all that happened if Sarkeleyet already had his own supply?

The marten shook his head in professor-like manner.

"You presume far too much. These are but the remnants of a prototype line. Distilled as they are, they are a good deal more dangerous than fully processed Red Brandy. One dose and the unfortunate subject is sent into a bloodwrath from which there is no end." Here the marten's eyes slit with macabre satisfaction. "The subject kills everybeast in his sight until he is either slain or else his heart bursts. I would have shown you this before, but then too much would have been presumed. No doubt most of your…colleagues would have misunderstood and thought this was the final product, not realizing that I need_ the real Brandy."_

No, before there had been more than two beasts in the study, more paws moving about, reaching, touching. One could not keep track of that many wandering paws at once, even if he possessed some help in the form of servants. Now, though, it was just he and Antonio and how could Antonio make a move without Sarkeleyet knowing, the marten must have thought.

"As you can see, my stock is limited, which is why it is imperative that you retrieve the original batch."

Antonio stretched a paw toward the box.

"May I?"

Sarkeleyet only nodded.

Retrieving a solitary vial, he held the object up to the light. The vial was filled with a muddy red liquid. There was not even a slight glimmer of brightness on his end. The prototype Brandy was not in the least translucent. He unscrewed the top and sniffed the contents, carefully hiding the disgust in his face at the smell; the raw ingredients of the stuff may have been taken from the sewers themselves. His face a picture of calculated satisfaction, he replaced the vial in the box.

"Are you quite sure there is no other place your colleague may have stored his wares, anywhere else he may have worked?"

Sarkeleyet spent far too much time gazing at the ceiling in thought, four seconds longer than was usual to be precise. At least he had picked an even number, Antonio reflected.

"There is but one area I can think of, a small apothecary shop not far from the headquarters of those Feldoh's Heirs." He chuckled, a very forced sound. "Local gossip had it that there was in fact a large she-lizard taking up residence within the building, but it is a derelict now, as far as I know."

The meeting wound around the usual parameters, a few more niceties given on Antonio's part, a few more questions. Soon, the stoat was able to stand, thank Lord Sarkeleyet ever-so-much for his understanding of the matter, tell him just how glad he was that he was still able to work for him and then leave. A quick glance around the hall assured that nobeast was watching him. Antonio stayed near the door, waiting for a familiar murmuring to occur. He allowed himself a smile when it did.

The door opened soundlessly, that dark slit of light expanding into a window through which the stoat crept. Sarkeleyet was very much absorbed in conversation with himself at the far corner of the room. On thief's paws, he slid across the floor, skillfully removed the lid to the box and retrieved one of the vials. He turned on his heel, leaving the door exactly where it had been a moment ago. If Sarkeleyet even noticed the theft, it was long after Antonio left. It would not matter either way. He would not be returning.

It was not true, his mind screamed, there was no conceivable, rational, possible way. And yet his paws protested, as well as his eyes, the watery traitors, after very plainly seeing what he held. Another box. Another puzzle box, similar to the one they had found before, this one hiding in a compartment in a wall concealed only by a hasty application of plaster. Another puzzle box with no sign of a keyhole, no sign of a latch, but a clear sign of a security device that would destroy whatever was in it if the box were mishandled.

Antonio took a deep breath, his eyes locked on the box though slit eyes. Slowly, carefully, he steadied his arms, took another breath and as uncontrollable rage took him, dashed the box against the ground with both paws.

He opened his eyes to find papers strewn all about the bare second floor room. The papers, it seemed, were not in the least harmed. No trace of scorch or stain showed on their aged yellow faces.

Antonio stopped the building laughter from exploding out of his throat with great difficulty, but stop it he did. Best not to wake anybeast, although the clatter from the box may have already done as much. This box appeared a great deal older. Therefore, the safeguard must have malfunctioned or worn through long ago.

Kneeling down, he surveyed the pages and attempted to pile them into some sort of order. What he found were long equations, lists written in both word and number. If one looked at the pages just carefully enough and perhaps with a hint of madness about him, he would see that the pages bore a recipe, the only recipe this Gate's-damned Nyveer would have hidden behind a wall in an apothecary shop well off the beaten path of any traveler: the recipe for the distillation of Red Brandy. A smile, entirely unauthorized, curled at his lips. Antonio was so happy, he could–

"Hold there!"

A blade pressed at his back.

"Not a move or you will be slain!"


	60. I Am the One, Camouflage and Guns

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 58. I Am the One, Camouflage and Guns  
**_by Aras  
_

"You killed me, Aras."

_What?_

The voice came low, haunting, with ice dripping from every syllable.

"You... killed... me..."

Aras found himself in a gazebo. He knew it was a gazebo, because it was an octagonal room constructed of glass and flakily-painted timbers. What he couldn't, for the life of him, remember, was how he'd come to know that. He'd read it, probably, and filed the word away somewhere with all of the other words which he'd hoped to find an excuse to write. Every scribe, he supposed, must have one, if they had any imagination at all. After all, any humdrum activities could cause the paw to write a "which" or an "all," but only extraordinary events could stir it to pen a "catastrophic," or a "quagmire." One "lachrymose" could make up for an entire scroll of "it"s.

However, Aras did not, at this time, want to be in a gazebo. There were things to be done, assuredly, and discussions to be had. Troops, which would be mobilized, spurred into action, and inevitably cut down, thanks to the actions which he might take, which he had planned out and doubtlessly would take, when he stopped mucking about in gazebos.

The wolverine turned. This gazebo, apparently, had been constructed without a door. All about him, in eight different directions, were panes of glass. No sign of a handle, hinges, or anything.

"You killed me, Aras." The voice was right behind him.

He turned. Nothing was there.

Glass cracked behind him.

He turned again. Something was there.

A gull had flown into the glass wall of the gazebo. Long cracks formed a spider-web across the pane. The gull should have flown away, but it didn't. It stayed, pressed against the window. It let out a rasping squall.

"You... you killed me," said another voice, to the left.

Aras turned towards it. It was hare, dressed in full regimental uniform. Blood was spattered all over his tunic. The hare sat beyond the glass, staring listlessly at a broken spear clenched in its paws. "You... _killed_ me," it said again, not looking up. Its words were slow and deliberate, as though it simply could not reconcile this fact.

There was a long, wet, warbling sound, behind him and to the right. It was Tysen. The ermine's tongue was pressed to the glass, licking it in a slow circle. Saliva beaded on the pane.

"Tysen? What are you doing here?"

The ermine stopped. He stared through the glass at Aras. "Aras?"

"Tysen?" Aras asked again. "What are you doing here?"

Tysen smiled, showing blackened stumps of teeth. "Don't you know?"

Aras shook his head.

"You killed me," the ermine said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Oh yerss, Aras. You killed me. You snapped my footpaws and you broke my spine, an' I asked you why, Aras, why? An' you said I knew what I'd done, an' you left me there to die. I lay there forever and ever and it was cold and I couldn't move, Aras, and I died, Aras, and you _killed_ me, Aras." Tysen practically spat the words at him.

Aras had nothing to say.

The ermine's white face crinkled in perplexion. "You really don't remember?"

"No!" Aras protested.

"You should remember," Tysen said matter-of-factly. "You killed me. I died, and you should remember that you killed me, at least. The least you could do, Aras, is remember that you killed me."

"I can't remember! I can't remember anything!"

"Do you remember me, Aras?"

An old squirrel appeared to Tysen's left.

"No!"

"How 'bout me?" It was a leveret, barely three seasons old. Blood dripped from his mouth.

"No!"

The gull squawked.

"What about me?"

"What about _me_?"

"What about me, Aras?"

There were more of them, eight in all, one for each window. There was a mouse, an owl, a wolf. They were all bleeding.

"No!" he stammered, turning about to encompass them all. "I don't remember you!"

They began to shout.

"You _killed_ me!"

"You killed _me_."

"_You_ killed me."

Sybil appeared, glowering. "You killed me."

Their voices became a clamor, with each one demanding that he recognize their deaths. And then, suddenly, there was silence. The images faded.

The blood-colored stone dropped from his pocket, and shattered on the floor. The shards melted, turned to blood, and the timbers drank them in.

"Aras."

In front of him was a white fox. She was young, beautiful. Her fur shone with a dazzling purity which made the snows of the Circle grey by comparison.

"Do you remember me, Aras?"

He stared into her eyes. They were black, black as night, yet they shimmered like the aurora borealis. And they were deep. Her eyes were like a bottomless crevasse, and he knew that if he were to step forward he would fall into them forever. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

And he had killed her. He had killed the rest, so he _must_ have killed her.

Aras stared at the blood-stained floor, unable to meet her gaze. "I... I don't think I want to."

The vixen looked hurt. "Why?"

"Because..." The words seemed foreign, and they tasted bitter. "...I killed you."

A tear spilled down the vixen's cheek. "No, Aras," she whispered. Her voice was light, like a feather resting upon the newly-fallen snow.

"I killed _you._"

Aras' eyes snapped open. Thoughts peppered his mind, flicking him back towards consciousness. He was in the parlor. Pearl's place. Alone.

He had to go. Had to go... kill everybody. No. Not kill them. Save them. Save Evnakt by starting the war.

_The vixen._ She said she'd killed him. _But... what... how? She was wrong, but dreams can't be wrong, can they? Because dreams came from within your head, and you can't tell yourself things that aren't true, can you? Maybe you can._

He tasted blood. Brull had mentioned blood, earlier. Blood on his teeth.

That thought had a sobering effect like an almighty slap. Aras' tongue probed at his fangs, searching for any last remnants. None. He was safe, again. For now.  
In his mind the wolverine cursed violently. He'd held things together for so long, and suddenly, it was all crumbling to dust. Brull and Silisk had guessed him out, and the others probably wouldn't be far behind. He might as well go find the rest and announce his dietary complications.

_Huh. That would be rich. I can see it now..._

"I knew it from the start," Antonio would huff, obviously lying. Then he would probably preen. Pearl, of course, would gasp, and beg him to say he was only fooling. The dotty little vixen would probably stare at him quizzically for a bit, and then somebeast would have to explain to her what the word "carnivore" meant, and then have to explain the explanation, so that she wouldn't think he was a beast who went around eating meetings. And then things would be awkward, and conversation would be strained, and things would continue on continuing to get worse. No. Better to leave them in the dark.

This plan didn't involve them, by design.

Brull was on board. That was step two. Step one had been to convince Sarkleyet and Calderon that he was their only key to victory.

Step three... was a bit of a sticky wicket. Calderon was only one voice among the woodlander throng, and Aras rather doubted that the hare could rally all of the troops together on a Because-I-say-so basis.

Aras stared into the dying embers of the fireplace, watching the last tongues of flame dance across the blackened wood. War was a fire. Evnakt was the wood, Sarkleyet and Calderon the kindling. Brull and Aras were going to play flint and tinder: put them together, spark the kindling, and keep your distance when things get too hot. If the fire died out, they'd play fire-poker, too.

Yes, all of the ingredients were there. All they needed was the right spark.

Aras recalled the puzzle box they'd recovered from the apothecary basement. Whatever was in there, they could use, he was sure of it. Antonio hadn't been able to crack the thing, as far as Aras could tell, and he suddenly felt that it was high time to take a stab at it. After all, who better to solve the word puzzle than a scribe?

Easing himself off of the sofa, Aras trudged off in search of his spark.

====

"Antonio."

The stoat turned, looking mildly peeved.

"I need to see the lockbox."

It occurred to Aras that he could possibly have tacked a "please" on there, but he was sorely lacking the mental energy it took to feign politeness.

Antonio's brow furrowed. "No."

"No?" Aras was momentarily taken aback.

"No," the ermine stated flatly. "The box is in my possession, and I would much prefer that it remain that way."

_One slash,_ Aras thought, drawing an imaginary red line across Antonio's throat. _Just one. It would be like killing a flea._

Instead, he simply locked eyes with the ermine, and attempted psychically convince his obstinate head to explode. Antonio returned the stare for a commendable length of time before huffing, "Well, I am afraid that I must be going." Aras stared daggers into the ermine's retreating back, before a thought struck him.

_Going... going where, Antonio?_

Aras followed the ermine, who ducked into his sleeping quarters. Several moments later, he emerged, a pack of supplies slung over his shoulder. Antonio was indeed going somewhere. Doubtless his grandiose little mind had come up with an alternate plan for Evnakt's salvation.

_Well, call me crazy, but if you're going to turn this into a race of factions, I don't think I want you to have a head start._

Aras looked at the pack. There were several noticeable bulges, but they were round, not linear. Importantly, not box-shaped.

_He didn't take the box with him._ Or did he? Aras tried to recollect the way that Antonio's pack had hung, the many thousands of times he'd looked at it during their journey. Antonio had kept the box near the bottom, so it couldn't fall out. The corner of it had poked Aras once. Antonio had stopped abruptly, and Aras had run into him. Antonio had given him a reproachful glance and made a direct point of loudly mentioning how breaking the box would probably result in disastrous consequences for _all of them._ The ponce.

Antonio rounded the corner, and was gone. Whether the box had gone with him... Aras didn't know.

Aras ducked into the ermine's room. A cursory glance revealed that Antonio hadn't been helpful enough to leave the box anyplace obvious. The room was largely devoid of furnishings – owing, no doubt, to the room's previous function. There was the bed, of course, with lavish blankets and dishevelled sheets that Aras didn't want to think about. In one corner squatted a chair, which Pearl had presumably provided solely to hang discarded trousers over. Antonio had turned it straight, square to the wall, so that each of the four legs was positioned in the middle of a floorboard. The end table had been similarly adjusted, so that no leg touched a crack in the joists. The bed didn't appear to have been moved, presumably because it was too heavy. Aras stooped. Sure enough, the left leg was square in the middle of a crack. That had probably kept Antonio awake for _hours._ The ermine's mind ticked with the precision of a pocket-watch, albeit one that had been wound too tight, and was liable to begin spewing little springs at any given moment.

Behind him, the door sagged open, supporting the weight of a bourbon-drenched Sherriff Brull. "Ellgamumbrugglingun," the bleary-eyed rat mumbled.

Aras smiled, despite himself. "Feeling rested, Sherriff?"

One red-rimmed eye twitched. "Do I look bloody rested?"

"No," Aras answered, honestly. _Fates, but he's testy when he's had too much._ "Haggard, if anything."

"Hag-what?"

"Never mind. Have you given any further thought to our plan?"

"Do I look –"

"A simple 'no' would suffice, Sherriff," Aras said, very meaningfully clenching a fist.

Brull caught the hint. "No. What are you looking for?"

"The lockbox we picked up in the apothecary. If my suspicions are correct, it contains something that we can use to heavily further our cause."

The rat's eyes wobbily scanned the room. "Not many places that box could be."

Aras sighed. "I know."

"I don't think we even need it, really."

The wolverine grunted, and pulled open the end table's drawer. It contained mostly dust, and something lacy Aras didn't want to hazard identifying.

Behind him, Brull droned on. "What we've got to do is capture one of those Felldoh's Heir nutjobs, someone significant, that they'll notice missing. We drag 'em back here, rough 'em up good, make sure there's lots of bruises and blood, and kill 'em. Then we string the corpse up somewhere they can't help but notice. They'll get all hot under their habit collars, be itching for a fight. We tell that hare, what's-his-whiskers, to send 'em to the city, because we know the Red Dusk is going to be setting up shop there. Then we tell Sarky that Felldoh's got an ambush planned, send 'em to the same spot. Boom."

"And whichever side is left standing hails us as their saviors. Well thought out, Brull. The bourbon does wonders for your mental faculties."

"Huh?" Brull looked confused.

"Of course, there's always the possibility that whoever wins the battle will conveniently forget what we've done for them, and try to have us eliminated. That's why we need a bargaining chip, and I think we'll find one inside the case. If it's here, that is."

Brull looked unconvinced, but nodded. "You touched the bed?"

There was a bawdy joke in there somewhere, but Aras let it pass. "What do you mean?"

"The bed. You touched it?"

Aras blinked. "No."

"Check underneath it."

The wolverine knelt and craned his head, scanning. It was difficult to make anything out in the shadows, but there didn't appear to be anything but dust. "Nope. Nothing."

"Really? Odd. You're sure he didn't take it with him?"

"Pretty sure."

Brull wandered over to a shelf, where Antonio had deposited the papers they'd collected from Nevyeer's laboratory. He ran a claw along the stack, ruffling the edges. "Huh," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Well, look at the sheets. They're rumpled. And if you didn't do it, that means Antonio did."

The pieces clicked together in Aras' head. "And there's no way he'd purposely leave the sheets like that, unless he was distracted. So you thought it was under the bed."

"Right. That stoat's tighter than the cork in a wine bottle." At this turn of phrase, the Sherriff looked dreamily upwards. "Try looking under the pillow."

Aras shifted the cushion, to reveal the lockbox. His eyebrows arched in bemusement.

Sherriff Brull smiled. "Oh, I'm good on bourbon, all right, but you should see what I can do when I've laid paws on a good glass of _whiskey_."

The wolverine examined the box. The four dials had been arranged to spell out a word which appropriately expressed Antonio's frustration at being unable to guess the combination. Aras changed it so it would read "L-U-C-K." He'd need lots of it, in the days ahead.

"So, who should we kill? Marcion?"

Brull looked at the papers, sniffed, and began leafing through them. "No."

"Why? He's their leader..."

The rat picked up a piece of paper and studied it. "Huh. 'How far can I walk into the forest?'"

Aras shook his head. "It's a riddle. Took us to a place in the forest, ultimately a dead end... Wait, there's some writing on the back of the paper. What's it say?"

Brull examined the spidery scrawl. "Says, 'Remember why i seek you.' Mean anything to you?"

Aras repeated the head shake.

The Sherriff shrugged and replaced the paper. "Me neither."

"Something to do with the box, maybe? Like a clue?"

"Pretty ruddy useless. Who knows why Nevyeer's seeking the Brandy?"

"Wealth? Power? Because he's a nutter?"

"None of those have four letters. Besides, we don't even know that the "you" is the Brandy, or who the "I" is. It might not be Nevyeer."

"It's somebeast without an education, that's for sure. The 'i' wasn't even capitalized."

"Maybe they had low self-esteem. So, why not Marcion?"

Brull snorted. "Because he's their leader. We're going for shock and awe." Aras couldn't help but notice the patronizing tone which subtly underscored into the rat's words.

"Umm... yes. We'd get that from killing Marcion." Aras' large claws fiddled with the dials. He tried to think of reasons why a beast might seek something. _Love, maybe?_

"Marcion's a radical," Brull said, holding up an educational paw. "And a bloody nutbag, but everybeast knows that by now. There've been enough casualties that Felldoh's Heirs will have lost their ideas of a glorious thrashing of the vermin, and probably even to start suspecting that victory is impossible."

The dials clicked until they spelled L-O-V-E. The box didn't open. "I don't follow you."

"Marcion's death wouldn't come as a surprise. They've been suspecting he'll die for a long time now, consciously or not. Same thing with any of his lieutenants, anybeast that's done time as a soldier. Nobody's surprised when a career fighter gets killed."

L-U-S-T also didn't work. "So what are you suggesting?"

"We kill somebeast that they're not going to expect. Somebeast that doesn't belong in a place like this, and doesn't deserve to die."

Aras raised a quizzical brow.

"A maid would probably be the best. A nice innocent one, who smiles, makes all the lads feel lovey-dovey inside, reminds them of their momma. Except pretty. Has to be a pretty one. Nobeast ever expects anything nasty to happen to the nice, innocent, pretty ones."

Aras remembered the vixen from his dream, the horror and shame he had felt, thinking that he might have killed her. A knot of revulsion twisted in his stomach.

_No._

Brull capitalized on the silence. "We take an innocent maid, do some horrible things to her, kill her, and string her up for all the Heirs to see. I guarantee you, that'll outrage them more than a thousand dead Marcions."

The wolverine grimaced, his enthusiasm suddenly waning. "That... that's..."

"It's pretty bloody horrible, is what it is. Don't get me wrong. Makes me feel like vomiting. Takes a real rat bastard to even imagine something like this. But it's the right thing to do. It'll save lives. Innocents got killed here, Aras. The Heirs cut 'em down like chaff, because they thought it was right. Don't forget that. None of those woodlanders is innocent, deep down."

_Then again, neither are we._

Aras nodded slowly. Lockbox in paw, he followed Brull out of the house. As the pair headed down the street, Aras slowly turned the letters, until the box read E-V-I-L.


	61. I would not give you false hope

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 59. I would not give you false hope  
**_by Pearl  
_

Oh you sun now run away, run away,  
little stars come out to play, out to play,  
baby mine come close your eyes,  
sleep until the new dawnrise,  
I will sing thee lullabies, through this peaceful night.

How long had she had been humming? Pearl wasn't sure. She must have unconsciously picked up the simple tune because she was concentrating so hard on finding Sandy. It was a song the little kit loved, one that had calmed her tears many a time.

But, no. Despite the fact that it was a familiar melody, the song had come into her mind from a different source: the faint treble of a flute. It was so beautiful, so haunting that the vixen couldn't help but sing along; softly at first and then louder as she began to seek out the musician.

Lullabies were for little ones. Why else would somebeast play a lullaby, unless a little one were near to hear it? And if there were a little one somewhere close by, why shouldn't it be her own dear kit? It may not have been the soundest logic, but hope still lent speed to the vixen's search and confidence to her song. She rounded a corner sure that the piper must be right there. As she entered the alley however, the music suddenly came to an end. Pearl also let the song die on her lips.

"Oh please don't stop. Such a voice; like an angel," came a smooth whisper from the shadow.

The vixen squinted into the darkness. Surely this wasn't the sort of place a creature would choose to serenade a child into slumber. "Wh-who are you?"

"Only a simple player, Madam. It is so seldom to meet another creature with such a talent. What a treat it is to have you join my melody with your own dulcet tones. Music is after all the food of love; love which stirs the heart and sets fire to the blood. Certainly if the passion in your voice is anything to judge by, it is love which leads you as well?"

"I ..." Pearl took a step back away from the creature's dark silhouette. "I was looking for somebeast. I thought maybe...that song.... It sounded like a lullaby."

"A mother searching for her kit?" The sable guessed, stepping out into the open. His eyes were bright with some manic light. "How touching. Perhaps I could aid you in your quest? The little one is undoubtedly a music lover with such a guardian as thee. Surely our harmonization would draw the kitten out of hiding."

Fighting the instinct to flee, the madam kept her response polite, "No, thank you. I'm sure I'll manage. I'll just be going." She spun on her footpaw and set off back the way she had come.

The others had said something about a sable. He was an evil creature who had murdered Sybil and Dirano. Her throat went dry when she remembered the state of the poor cat, drained of blood, and nailed to the gate of Sarkleyet's estate. Pearl wasn't about to stick around and find out if this was the same beast.

Her pawsteps quickened frantically, her breath became sharp and ragged, and her heart hammered uncontrollably. It was impossible to hear any pursuing pawsteps, and she couldn't find the courage to look behind. In her hurry the vixen hurtled into a solid object. She attempted to push away and continue with her flight but a paw caught her wrist and stopped her.

"Ms Pearl, what's wrong? You stormed out so fast I didn't have a chance to talk to you."

"Emma," the madam panted, realizing after a moment who had impeded her flight. "We have to get out of here. There was some crazy beast back there. I think he may be the one who..."

"Emma? Emma? Did somebeast say Emma? Hmmm... Emma..." the frighteningly familiar voice drawled.

Pearl gasped and whirled around.

"Ah yes. I believe we have a mutual friend. Or _did_ rather, you'll have to excuse me. He got a little drained after we had a drink together. I left him hanging around by the martin's mansion." As he spoke, the mad-beast paced closer to them. "He was a passionate one too, ever so passionate about a darling little creature he called Emma."

Suddenly Pearl pushed the younger female away from herself in an effort to get the cat moving. "Run, Emmy! Save yourself!"

There was no time to even consider her own escape. In a whisker's shake the sable had the vixen locked in a deadly embrace with a knife pressed to her throat. Those paws that had so beautifully employed the flute now wielded their new instrument with equal skill.

The vixen let out an eardrum rending scream.

"Awe that voice," The sable crooned with an excited chuckle. "It's almost a shame..."

Out of the corner of her eye, Pearl saw her murderer lick the blade before he brought it back to her exposed neck.

"But we must all suffer for our art, mustn't we?"

The knife incised a shallow slit into the skin where it was pressed and the vixen screamed again. The sable carried on with his oration as if he hadn't heard. "Oh yes, I suffer. My health suffers. Do you have any idea how hard it is to carry on with your craft while your blood is turning to ash? No, of course, you couldn't."

A third time Pearl screamed, now as much for the pain as for the fear. "Please! Stop! Don't do this!" She managed to get a paw free and tried to push the blade away. Her claws slipped on something hot and wet. It was blood, her blood. The sight of it made her dizzy and nauseous.

"Still," the sable continued. "The show must go on."

"Let her go, Castille!" A shout came from somewhere further down the street.

It sounded vaguely familiar. Pearl tried to look up to see who it was but, as she was fading into unconsciousness, the last thing she heard was the sable's mad giggle. "Mustn't disappoint the audience."

"We can't just leave her here. That monster might come back to finish her off. You haven't seen what he's capable of." The bass rumble came from Aras. Pearl mused as she began to come around, _My knight in shining armor. He always seems to show up exactly when I have need of him._

"Yes, but we've already wasted enough time." That was the sheriff. "We're supposed to be searching for a hostage an' after runnin' off to save _her_ I'm not even bloody sure where we are."

"I can help you find your way," a female voice answered. "And I might know of a creature who would..."

"That's my girl." The vixen opened her eyes and smiled bleakly up at the three beasts tending to her. "Always so helpful. Jus' like I taught you."

"Ms. Pearl, are you all right?" Emma asked concern filling the catmaid's green eyes.

"Well of course I'm fine." Pearl patted Aras' paw (he must have caught her when she fell) and stood on her own footpaws. "Why shouldn't I be ..." She caught a glimpse of her paw where her own blood tinged the clawtips red-brown. "Oh Fates, what happened?"

Somebeast had tied a cloth around her throat where the sable had cut her. The vixen trembled and the wolverine's paw came back to steady her.

Aras's deep voice was calming, "He's gone now. He's not going to hurt you anymore."

Pearl nodded vaguely. They were starting to move. Emma was leading them some place. Snatches of conversation flew by her but the madam didn't catch them.

Then Aras asked, "What is this place?"

"Think you mean, what _was_ this place?" Brull stepped past the wolverine, through the rubble.

Pearl looked around at the debris that littered the area. "I believe this once the home of one of the island's more prominent business men, Theron Marquesas. I don't see why you have brought us here, however, Em." It was her first full sentence in a while and it caused the rest of them to turn their attention to her.

The catmaid shuddered and glanced around nervously. "It was destroyed in the storm."

"No kidding." Brull cleared his throat.

The vixen watched the other female carefully. It was as if Pearl was awakening from a dream and she recalled that her former employee knew more about what was really going on then what she had previously led on. "There was a big party here that night. Most of the storm's initial casualties were crushed when the ceiling of the ballroom collapsed."

Emma nodded, "I was there or here rather. I – I had followed Dirano to see if he was going to meet with Ms. Mizli."

"Theron's wife?"

Again the younger female nodded. "I snuck in while the party was going on an' took shelter from the storm down in the servant's quarters."

"That's great," Aras interrupted. "But you still haven't told us why we're here now."

"Yes Em, why did you bring us here?" Pearl asked. She felt as if the whole of her existence hinged on the answer to this question.

The catmaid eyed each of the other creatures guiltily before she continued. "I – well when I started working with Felldoh's Heirs one of the things they were looking for was a place to stow their prisoner's young ones, somewhere the islanders would never think to look for . . ."

"You've known she was here all along!" Like lightning the vixen's paws went to the younger female's throat.

"Now hold on there." Brull attempted to break up the fight but all Aras had to do was reach in with one paw and lift Pearl away from her victim.

"Let me go!" The vixen struggled to get free. "She's as good as kitnapped Sandy herself!"

The sheriff kept a paw on Emma who looked ready to bolt but he spoke calmly to Pearl. "I realize that, but you gotta keep your voice down or we'll have half the woodlanders in town down on us."

Aras made sure that the madam had calmed down a bit before he set her back on her foot paws and turned to face the catmaid. "So where is this place they're keeping the kits?"

"You heard the wolverine," growled Brull, crossing his own arms menacingly. "Speak up!"

Tears of fear were glistening in the catmaid's eyes. "It's just – just a little further, just past that bit of wall that's still standing."

Pearl started off in the indicated direction, tail swishing determinedly behind her. "Well what are we waiting for?"

"I think it might be better . . ." Emma spoke up and the other three stared at her.

The vixen wasn't really in the mood to hear what her former employee thought, but she snorted and waited for the girl to finish.

"They know me. I should probably go in by myself."

"Oh no." Pearl started to raise her voice again. "I've waited long enough to get her back I'm going in there now."

"Well," The sheriff put a paw on the madam's arm. "She might have a point there. We don't know how many of 'em are in there. If we just rush in they might start killin' off the little'uns."

This notion stopped Pearl in her tracks.

"Th - that's right." Emma nodded more confidently. "I'll just knock on the door and see what we're up against. And you can . . ." she shot a look at the wolverine. "You can stay just out of sight and watch me the whole time."

Nobeast said anything so the catmaid took a step toward the hiding place. "I'll only be a moment." Then she hurried before they could change their minds.

"We'd better get out of sight," Brull motioned for the other two to follow him behind a heap of rubble but he didn't take his eyes off Emma.

"I can't believe she never told me," Pearl seethed as she allowed Aras to guide her around next to the sheriff.

Brull snorted. "Maybe she was afraid you'd be angry."

The vixen was about to retort but Aras laid a paw on her arm and motioned for quiet. "I think we might be able to hear what they're saying," he whispered.

Emma had knocked on the door and a harassed looking shrewwife poked out her head looking side to side before she laid in to the catmaid with a vengeance. "Do you know how long I been waitin' for somebeast to relieve me o' this post? I know there's been a fire and fightin' and all sorts o' nonsense, but I was supposed to be off my shift a day ago! Well never mind. You're here now."

The shrew shoved a bundle into Emma's arms, "Take this one. He's your kind so maybe you can do something with 'im. He only cries for me."

The catmaid looked as if she had been about to say something but when the kitten was placed in her arms she stopped and stared at it.

"There's a couple of rats and a ferret who have been putting up a fuss, but the vixen's a doll. It's really the _squirrel_ ye have t' worry about," the shrew went on and then the listeners lost some of what she said next because she ducked back inside the makeshift nursery.

Pearl's attention was captured when she heard the word 'vixen' but something seemed to have interested her companions as well.

"...Other than that you should be fine." The shrewwife, now with a bag over her shoulder, patted the still entranced Emma on the arm. "An' I'll make sure you get yer relief sooner than I did. Seasons know, you don't want to be stuck with this lot fer longer than you have to."

As soon as the woodlander was out of sight, Pearl rushed to door. "Where is she?"

The catmaid didn't answer. She was still staring at the little kitten. "Look at 'im, Ms. Pearl. I think he's Di's."

The vixen glanced at the babe Emma was cradling. He was indeed the spitting image of Dirano but Pearl would not be distracted from her purpose. "Where is Sandy?"

At the sound of her name the little kit gave an excited cry, clapped her paws, and reached up toward her grandmother.

It took a moment for Pearl to spot the tiny vixen sitting on the floor in the relative gloom of the old servants quarters. When she did, she scooped the kit up into her arms and hugged her fiercely. "Oh Sandy! Oh my sweet, Sandy! I've missed you so! Thank the Fates you're all right!"

"Gra," the kit squealed with delight, clinging just as tightly to her long lost guardian.

Then Pearl felt a tug on her skirt. She looked down. The other young ones had begun to gather around her. "Ma'am, have you seen my papa?" one of them asked.

"Where's my mama?" another pleaded and a whelp in the corner set up a piteous wail.

Pearl searched around herself for help and she saw Aras and Brull now standing in the doorway. They looked just as confounded as she felt. The madam had been so focused on her own problems that she hadn't even considered the other families that had been torn asunder by all this mess. She hugged Sandy again, glad of at least this one bright spot in the rest of the dark world and then whispered, "We'll find them. We'll find all your mummies and daddies. Everything is going to be just fine."

Then another voice rose up out of the crowd of little ones. "I suppose you've seen my father?" Pearl was surprised to see that this question came from a half grown squirrel. "Everybeast gets to see him but me."

end of week five. 


	62. In Your World

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

start of final week. 

**Chapter 60. In Your World..  
**_by Antonio  
_

**Too broken to belong  
too weak to sing along  
I'll comfort you my friend  
Helping you to  
Blow it all away**

In your world  
No one is crying alone  
In your world  
No one is dying alone 

Antonio took a breath and, surprised by his own action, rolled his eyes. In retrospect, it was quite befuddling to arrive at this juncture. He was very possibly teetering over the precipice of death from a beast whom, by the sound and smell of things, could either be a well-trained officer forced to live out in the field for more than his share of nights or else a homeless beast with a very prim accent. Annoyance, above all others, took the forefront of his emotions. The stoat took an existential second to reflect on exactly what this could mean, wonder if he had simply seen so much death that not even his own would matter now or if his weariness of failure had spread to other aspects of his life, primarily those having to do with living.

"Sir, I would ask that – "

A sharp poke in his back stopped his words with such force that he could feel them sliding back down his throat before they could be said.

"Not a word or I'll slay you."

_So I suppose a lesson on better wash habits in the field is out of the question then?_

This beast's stink was beginning to severely disrupt Antonio's chain of thought.

The stoat was lead from the room, down the stair. Waiting at the ground floor circled around the now dwindling fire were a group of hares. Antonio's brow twitched.

"Found him upstairs with a bunch of papers strewn about him."

The stoat rolled his eyes and voiced aloud, "A most astute conclusion. How ever did you arrive at such a skillfully-phrased statement?"

A kick to the back of his knees was meant to make him kneel, but despite the aching protest of his limbs, he resisted half-way down. He was not about to bow to these beasts.

Another hare, this one female, stepped to the forefront. Antonio straightened himself before looking her in the eye. He could tell just from her stance that this was the leader of the rabble.

"One can see your soldier's training pays off well. Subduing a camp of just four beasts, one of whom is quite injured, would have been an ordeal without such a number of well-armed troops, surely."

The commanding officer had more tact than Antonio's first appraisal gave her. Rather than grimace or snap at him, she merely responded, "You yourself are hardly unarmed. What of that sack of weaponry?"

Antonio's brows lifted. "What of it? I know exactly where it came from and exactly why we have such a thing, but I am curious to hear your thoughts on the matter."

The officer put up a paw and looked over Antonio's shoulder, presumably to stop the beast behind from retaliating physically once more.

"The Feldoh's Heirs are in an uproar right now. These are their weapons, correct?"

Resisting the urge to vocalize another quip, Antonio simply nodded. "Correct."

"And that otter there, he is a prisoner?"

"Only formerly such." _Although much of that depends on how he feels in the morning when we make our way back to the Oasis_. Antonio never thought he would ever look forward to returning to that whore's hole, crawling with those rowdy, unkempt creatures and that boorish rat. Considering present company, though, the alternative was very appealing.

"You see," he explained. "The Feldoh's Heirs had somehow taken it into their minds that this beast was in fact their enemy. We rescued him."

"And I supposed you did that simply out of the goodness and purity of your hearts, did you?"

A smile with just a hint of teeth sprang to life on the stoat's face. "Correct. I am sure of that just as I am sure that you are simply keepers of peace who would never, ever hurt a beast that did not merit such treatment, even if they were, say, a house full of refugees or perhaps even an unarmed wolfmaid, out for a stroll upon the beach."

From his vantage point Antonio could neither sight Silisk nor Zula but he thought he heard a muted, "Oh," from the small vixen at this.

The officer closed her eyes, opening them after for a lengthy stare into Antonio's. The urge to lunge forward and gouge them from her head was nearly irrepressible.

"I am sorry about the fate of your comrade. I'm so sorry."

Laughter, cold and barking erupted from the stoat's throat, for once something he did not have to fake. "I am quite sure that you are. You're friends to all 'vermin' are you not? Why else would you have one as a guide?"

He had noticed the guide moments ago, trying not to make eye contact with the beast ever since. What a rank and despicable disgrace for his species he was, siding with enemies of such tact. No doubt he was doing it all for payment: blood for gold. The General would have loved a beast like this on his court.

"We did not kill your friend. One of our officers, his name was Woxley," A clearly visible flinch went through the group of hares at the name. "He deserted. He didn't agree with my orders and thought it was better to go off on his own. He killed your friend. And he did it on his own."

Antonio scoffed. "Please, spare me such simple tricks."

"She's tellin' the truth, swear by m'blood!" their vermin cohort insisted, for all the weight _that_ added to the hare's claim.

"And I am supposed to believe what their servant boy tells me?"

The guide started at Antonio, pulled back by one of the hare guards. "Servant boy!? You'd better watch you're mouth, pretty whiskers, afore somebeast cuts it off!"

The commanding officer's eyes never left his own. In them, Antonio could see not even the slightest measure of guile or misdirection or lie, glints that he knew well and whose attributes he had carefully noted and studied since a young age. Those twin orbs burning with sincerity, she repeated in a tone as level as the flat edge of a knife, "We did not kill your friend."

Antonio blinked. Nobeast could fool him like that. They were liars with a skill he had never seen before. And yet, did their story not correspond to the story the other hare had given him, the one that he screamed was true? In that hare's eyes, was there not that same spark of…

Antonio did his best not to allow his eyes to widen even the slightest bit. He kept up the guise of a beast begrudgingly coming to accept a story his enemy had told him. Within, the realization was panning out in a much more chaotic way.

"Be that as it may, why is it you have detained us? We have done nothing wrong." The stoat thought for a moment. "To you."

"Salamandastron business," said the female officer.

"They wanted t'know what we were doin' in Sarky's mansion earlier," said Zula, a small voice in the dark.

Antonio's eyes shifted. He pawed his chin, spread his shoulders. A sly look did its best to burrow into his face despite everything erupting beneath.

"Ah yes, hunting for the Brandy, are we? No need to appear so surprised," he added before the hare could say anything. "It is the only thing of practical value on this island at the moment. I doubt a military organization would venture so far out of its way to recover gold and trinkets from a place riddled with disease and unrest. Allow me to submit a proposition."

An irritated hiss accompanied his response. "Why shouldst we deal with yon ruffians? You yourself said they had not right attacking us. And I remember Zula informing me that these cretins threatened her with bodily harm most foul."

Would that she _was_ a dragon, she would have set them all aflame and gobbled them up; her typically unreadable features told Antonio that much. And would that it were a few moments ago, Antonio would have let her do as such. Things had changed, though. The plan had changed.

"Miss Silisk, assure you this is in our mutual interest. They desire the Brandy, we desire to leave here unharmed," he turned his glance back to the hare. "And, quite frankly, we could use some additional assistance in the coming battle."

"We aren't to meddle."

"Not if you do not want your precious Brandy you will."

The hare grimaced. "Very well." She motioned him to continue.

"Moments ago, I discovered a box upstairs hidden behind a wall. Inside were documents on how to distil the Brandy, for in its raw state it is lethal to any who drink it. Now, a few days prior, my group and I encountered a very similar box, identical in every way to this other box. I have no doubt that your Brandy is in that box. In order to obtain it, however, you will have two choices; either storm a building full of very frustrated Evnakt refugees - something I would wager you are not very much up to considering that at least four of your troops have been killed in action - or agree to assist us."

The hare paused to give it some thought, as well she should. The answer was clear, but why soil her image by replying too promptly?

"Very well," she said at last.

Antonio frowned. He thought that surely she would have gone the full customary ten seconds before replying. She was beginning to disappoint him.

"Good. Then, if you will wait until morning, we can depart for our base of operations together."

"I don't think so," said the officer, standing as firm as ever. "Deal or no, we aren't about to go walking into an enclosed space filled with potential enemies."

Squelching the scowl building on his lips, Antonio replied, "Very well. At the end of the day tomorrow, I will send somebeast here with directions on how we are proceeding in the battle."

"You don't already know?"

His scowl flared once more. "Despite my natural skill for negotiations and tactics, I am not, as it were, in charge of our forces proper. It is more of a…collaboration," said Antonio, striving to keep the venom out of that last word.

"Whoever we send will have the details of our attack and will relay what I believe to be the best course of action for you. Now, after that it is your choice on how best to continue. Bear in mind, though, that the greater the chance of our group losing the war, the smaller the chance the you'll ever see your Brandy; as you've seen, the Feldoh's Heirs are not one for low-impact tactics and they tend to leave a great deal of rubble in their wake. Something as fragile as a vial of Red Brandy could easily break in the scuffle."

"If you don't break it first?" the hare behind him accused.

Antonio chuckled. "Smarter than you appear. But, jesting aside, yes. Should we lose the battle, I will not hesitate to destroy the Brandy. Know that, unlike you all, I have nothing to lose."

"We have a deal then. Captain, with me," said the hare, gesturing to the one behind Antonio. Her entire group began to file out of the door, leaving the commanding officer the last to exit. But not before she gave Antonio a parting threat.

"And you know this; should there be any treachery in your plans, the slightest fragment -"

"You'll have me hanged, roasted over a pit, ware my guts for garters, have my toes for tea, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera," Antonio said in droll tones. "You hares vastly lack imagination when it comes to threats of bodily harm."

"Would you prefer a fate similar to what happened to our scout?"

Antonio's steady gaze met the hare's, remaining just as level, just as steady. "I assure you, I know little to nothing of the specifics behind that act. It was decided in a discussion I was unfortunately not a part of."

Without so much as looking back over her shoulder, the hare exited to an almost audible rush of relief from all those gathered around the fire.

Everybeast was clearly shaken by the recent encounter and in turn dealt with such stress in their own way; Silisk's tail shifted restlessly, a hollow scraping sound reverberating throughout the ruined building to make the environment all the more foreboding, whilst her hissed mutterings of "fool earthcrawlers" and "daft long-ears" accompanied the macabre rhythm. Gericault contemplated the floor so deeply Antonio suspected he was attempting to will it to swallow him up. Zula, concerned eyes and restless paws, fidgeted with her own blouse, occasionally switching over to her bushy tail that was now perched in her lap. Her countenance especially bore the look of a deep impact, so much so that Antonio though it was not just the hare's arrival that had shaken her so.  
The serpent's mutterings, however, soon changed from irritant hisses to direct conversation.

"Sir Antonio, what think you really of the trustworthiness of those hares? What truly think you of such a negotiation?"

"Silisk, you are quite welcome for my diplomacy in dealing with those hares," said Antonio snidely.

"Would that I was thankful, I would accept such a nicety."

"That was sarcasm, Silisk." Then, when her expressionless face showed an even greater absence of understanding. "A jest, Your Majesty."

Silisk seemed a bit taken aback at being addressed so, as well as clearly befuddled at the prospect of both being insulted and bestowed with such a title at the same time. Regardless of what conclusions she came to about how to feel, Antonio continued.

"I believe that they will either play to my wishes or else simply disappear from out our lives. Hares are not devious creatures by nature. Discriminatory, perhaps, boorish definitely, disregarding of common hygienic courtesies most certainly," He shook himself and blew air out of his nose, trying hopelessly to dislodge the aroma left over by the foul beast. "But I am well aware of how a beast appears when lying and they were not."

Internally, he raged, _Merciful fates, they did not lie. Not about a single thing_.

Silisk, though looking as though she had much more to say, chose to lie mute for the time being.

Antonio sighed. Try as he might to get a grasp on his rapidly moving mind, he could not stop the thoughts that cascaded through, images that passed before his eyes, portraits of pain and destruction, of bloodied tools, blades rusted over with bodily fluids. His own vest became something he wanted to rip off and toss into the fire for all the traces of blood that were left behind upon it. He had been wrong, just the latest in a vast line of failures. The hare had been innocent.

The stoat crossed around the fire, sat down next to Zula. What cared he of a soldier? They existed as pawns, fated to die to further the expansion of empires. He was a prince. What cared he of the life of a pawn when he was so close to being a King?

_Because Chess is not as bloody. Pieces are pieces; be they wood or marble, they are only just. But flesh is flesh, lives are lives. Innocent blood is innocent blood._

Antonio crossed toward Zula and sat down without opening his eyes. When they finally opened, they came to rest on the small fox, huddled even smaller as she continued to fidget with her clothing and tail. No sooner did Antonio open his mouth to ask what was the matter than tears began streaming down her face, landing burning hot on his thigh.

"Zula," he said, a bit more sternly than he had meant. He had not regrettably had few dealings with children before now, but he knew how you should treat one.

"I'm sorry," said Zula, clutching the hem of her shirt even tighter.

"Do not be." Antonio made as if to pat her on the back, halting half-way so as not to disturb the symmetry of the fabric's folds.

"It's jus…it's…it's Rekkua," she managed to say under the undulating sobs. "I've been thinkin' about her…and I can't…"

"It is alright, Zula."

"No, it's not, Mister Tonio," she said, her tone more sincere than simply contradicting. "They…they…"

"Zula, she was infected with the same blight that caused the earthcrawlers' kingdom to collapse on itself. It could not be helped."

Much as Silisk's approach greatly lacked tact, she was correct. Antonio had seen what Rekkua had become in her final moments, if for only a second. In that second, however, he knew there was no salvation for the lizard. A pity. No, greater than a that.

"But I saw here!" Zula protested, eyes bleary, nose beginning to run. "She recognized me an' when I was with Miz Pearl, we went to the sewers where Nyveer had 'undreds of beasts wot were infectamabobed or whatever the word is, an', an', an they got better. They didn't havta…they didn't."

She could no longer hold against the strain. Zula buckled into thin, drawn-out sobs that rasped out of her throat and began to flow as the dam broke, setting free streaming tears in full. Antonio's lower lip pressed into the upper. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gericault make a move to say something, prompting Antonio to look him in the eye and shake his head. He knew what the otter would say. He had been in the same sickly-warm place before, where one's face felt fit to implode under the forced grimace despair forced the body into, while razorblades tore at the inside of the throat to become deep, cutting sobs. The old cliché's would not suffice here.

"Zula," He inched his way closer to her. "I had a friend, long ago, when I was about your age. It was just after my father passed and I was moved into the care of the Royal Guard. They were sworn by honor to protect me and for most of them that was the only reason. Skilled as they were at their positions, they saw me as only an object to be protected. Save my friend; he was unique."

He could see his friend then, helping him up after a quarrel with one of the servant boys, his friend's smile so wide it coaxed another one from behind Antonio's dead-set grimace.

"He took a liking to me. He was younger and so was not like his superiors. He did not think of me as an assignment but as a friend, an equal. I remember him sneaking me food from the kitchens when I was punished for talking out of turn. I remember playing games after lessons with the Guard. The time came where he was my personal attendant, virtually a body guard."

The stoat stared into the fire and shook his head.

"Yet he was still young. He was still naive to think that he could handle any threats to me on his own. One night, he fell for an assassin's trick and perished, a bolt through his heart killing him almost immediately."

He looked Zula in the eye.

"We all experience loss. It is inevitable. And nothing I say, not even the words that I am saying now, will likely change how you feel about Rekkua and all that has happened. One cannot know the pain of another; my friend could never know what it felt like to lose my father, the Guard could never know what it felt like to lose my friend. Nevertheless, you have friends with whom you may speak, even if it only eases the pain the smallest mite."

At first, Zula did not say as much as a solitary syllable. Soon enough, though, she spoke about her experiences with Rekkua, their awkward meeting in the cells, how the reptile seemed to overcome her disdain for warm-blooded creatures in order to assist them in their endeavors to free more prisoners of the Feldoh's Heirs. It was an often bumbling affair, complete with stalls, pregnant pauses, clumsy interjections. When it was finished, though, Zula seemed a bit better for all of it, although there was still much crying to be had on her part. Her compatriots soon followed, all save Antonio. The stoat had nobeast to talk to, not about loss, nor his constant discomfort, nor especially how at long last blood he had spilt had not been in self defense, nor the interests of justice as he had callously thought. Alone, the stoat stared into the fire, watching as the flames collapsed the wood into ash.


	63. I Won't Back Down

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 61. I Won't Back Down  
**_by Zula  
_

It is always a peculiar feeling waking up after a night of heavy weeping. Zula rubbed at her puffy eyes and sniffed at the awkward, icky feeling in her snout, before reaching around for her spectacles and accidentally grabbing Antonio's tail instead. She felt the stoat jump in surprise, and her head slipped off his leg, which she had been using as a pillow.

Zula sat up, blinking owlishly, to find Antonio giving her a curious look. "'M sorry f'r wakin' ye, mister 'Tonio."

"That is quite all right," the stoat said. "I was already awake."

The young vixen crossed her eyes. "Ah, would y' lookit that, m' glasses are right here on me muzzle. Must've slept with 'em on..."

Gericault was also already awake, pacing back and forth restlessly. "Er, I don't mean to interrupt, but shouldn't we...get a move on? It's past dawn, and we really shouldn't stay here."

"Certainly. That is, once Her Majesty wakes from her beauty sleep," Antonio said.

Zula crawled over to the neatly coiled pile that was Silisk and began tickling her cold scales. "Wakey, wakey, Silly snakey!"

Silisk slit open an eye, looking rather annoyed. "This is most undignified."

"Undignified or not, we must get going," said Antonio. "You can sleep on Zula's shoulders if you are still tired."

Even Zula caught the hint of playful mockery in the stoat's voice. The serpent raised her head off the ground, glaring regally at Antonio.

"Perish the thought, Master Antonio. I am most definitely fit for the journey. Let us be gone, hence."

With that, she slithered up Zula's outstretched arm and onto her shoulders, the young vixen giggling and squirming ticklishly as she did.

Unfortunately, the journey back to the Oasis was not a simple one. They had to hide from patrols at nearly every turn, in whatever abandoned building or piles of rubbish they could conceal themselves in.

"It's me they want," Zula heard Gericault whisper to Antonio as they crouched behind a particularly foul-smelling pile of filth, flies buzzing all around them. "Marcion must be in a horrible rage because I escaped. He's at least doubled the amount of patrols, by the looks of things. Possibly even tripled them."

"It shall take us all day to get anywhere at this rate," Antonio huffed, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

The last woodlander marched by, and soon the sounds of the patrol faded, leaving only the incessant buzzing of flies. Zula tried watching each of the bugs individually, but it soon made her dizzy. She had to envy the flies, though, with nothing to do with themselves but bumble around carelessly.

"What shall we do?" Silisk inquired, breaking through Zula's pondering of what a fly's life must be like.

"The sewers again, maybe?" Zula offered. "Worked last time with Mr. Sheriff."

"Oh, y' don't want t' be goin' down there, that's disgustin'," said a voice.

Everyone's heads whipped around to see a familiar one-eyed marten drop from one of the rooftops, landing smoothly on all fours.

Antonio nodded curtly. "Ms. Serpentcharmer."

Captain Kione Serpentcharmer straightened. "Mr. Calceterre."

"Pardon my intrusion, but what, pray tell, brings you to this particular location at this precise point in time?" Silisk demanded.

Zula screwed her face up, trying hard to make sense of the adder's roundabout mode of speech, but Kione seemed to understand.

"What'm I doin' 'ere?" she chortled. "Tryin' t' figure out what tha' brush-tailed bastard's up to. Or 'aven't ye noticed that th' streets're...crawlin' wid..." The aging marten paused when she noticed just who (or, rather, _what_) the fourth member of their party was. "What th' bleedin' 'ell is _'e_ doin' 'ere?"

"This is Mr. Geri, Miz Kione," Zula said, smiling disarmingly.

Gericault winced slightly at Zula's rather emasculating nickname. "Gericault," he corrected.

"I didn' ask yer name," the marten sniffed coldly, fixing the otter with her icy blue gaze. "I asked what th' 'ell yer doin' 'ere, thicktail. Spyin', no doubt. Yer kind're all alike."

Gericault growled, cracking his knuckles, and Captain Serpentcharmer whipped her cutlass from her belt. Zula flung herself between the angry mustelids, her paws stretched as wide as they could reach.

"No, Miz Kione, don't hurt 'im! He's on our side, he is!"

"Am I?" Gericault growled. "_Am I_? I'm not so certain if this is the reception I get. Threatening an unarmed beast, eh? How utterly brave of you."

"Want I sh'd give ye m' blade, otter? I'd still rip ye limb from treacherous limb, make no mistake!" Serpentcharmer spat.

"This really is not the time nor place for such discourse..." Silisk began.

"Go ahead and do it," Gericault barked, a single tear coursing down his cheek. "I've got nothing left, so there's no point to anything anymore."

Surprised at the otter's abrupt mood shift, Kione raised her eyebrow and snorted, "What's this nutter on about?"

"Althra," Gericault croaked. "My sister. Marcion used her for...for his pleasure. She was practically his slave. Then he tossed her aside like a dirty pawkerchief when he was done with her. He _murdered_ her, and he made everyone think I did it."

Serpentcharmer had lowered her cutlass, an inscrutable expression on her face. "Why would 'e do that?"

Gericault shook his head slowly. "It's obvious, isn't it? After all the trouble you lot have given him, the Felldoh's Heirs have begun to mutter things amongst themselves about their purpose here. Framing me rallied them together, got them all riled up again. Marcion..." The otter's eyes hardened with rage. "He made me out to be a traitor."

"Well..." Kione coughed politely. "Are ye?"

Gericault looked from the captain, to Antonio, to Silisk, and finally to Zula, who stared up at him, her eyes wide and a claw scratching at a blob of something that had congealed on her spectacles.

"I suppose I am," he said finally. "It's true, I have long been of the thought that our presence here was unnecessary, and ever since Althra became involved with Marcion and I came to know him better, I have suspected something is very wrong with his mind. He needs to be stopped."

"Well then!" Serpentcharmer announced, sheathing her cutlass and clapping her paws. "We c'n work out th' details o' yer treachery later. Th' snake's right, this isn't th' place. I jist saw ye hidin' 'ere an' thought I c'd be of 'elp getting' ye across town. We Red Dusk've gotten pretty good at sneakin' about."

"That would be most appreciated," Antonio said.

"Well, I c'n get y' as far as Sarky's at least. I gotta make me report."

"Ah," Antonio, Silisk, and Zula all breathed together.

~

"So y' see, Sarky, they're goin' mad because o' this beast 'ere."

Captain Serpentcharmer had explained the entire situation with some help from Gericault.

"I see, I see," the affluent marten said, reclining at the desk in his study. Finally, he addressed Antonio, Silisk, and Zula. "It's wonderful to see you all again. I was beginning to wonder if the Felldoh's Heirs had gotten you."

Antonio and Silisk merely nodded in somewhat stony silence, but Zula smiled. "Sure an' it's nice seein' you again too, Mr. Sarky! Any chance o' gettin' some o' them wunnerful scones again?"

Antonio nudged Zula despairingly, but Sarkleyet chuckled. "Absolutely. Captain, see that these creatures are well-fed."

Eight or nine hot, buttery scones later, Zula left Antonio, Silisk and Gericault in the banquet hall to discuss the day's events and their plans once they reached the Oasis that evening. The little vixen trotted through the halls of the mansion. After all that had happened recently, she rather felt she needed to be on her own for a while, to explore. Rekkua's death still weighed heavily on her. Antonio's talk had helped, but only to an extent. One by one her friends were dying...Sybil, Dirano, Rea, Rekkua...and for what?

She passed shiny thing after shiny thing, but they weren't half as intriguing as they would have been normally. What was wrong with her? In the past her little solo expeditions made her forget all the horrible things her mother said and did to her, but for whatever reason...they just weren't making her forget any of this. The pain and emptiness she felt for her departed friends, Rekkua especially, lurked beneath her like a great, hungry maw waiting to swallow her whole.

Zula wandered into a room full of priceless vases and figurines, all displayed neatly on their own little plinths and tables. She grabbed a vase, hesitated the briefest of moments, and brought it crashing to the floor, half out of anger and half out of curiosity.

The pain did not go away.

A porcelain mouse was the next victim. Zula glared at the shards of what had moments before been the mouse's head, gritting her teeth so hard her jaws ached. _Why did she still hurt?_

Crash after crash resounded as she went on the rampage, toppling tables and hurling objects as hard as she could, growling and shrieking until she went hoarse. It wasn't after she'd destroyed what would take at least ten of her lifetimes to pay for that she threw herself prostrate, heedless of the shards that scraped and jabbed her as she did so. The vixen beat the floor with bloody paws, a whining sob escaping her throat. She realized she couldn't do anything to make the pain go away. She was just weak, small, vulnerable...breakable. As breakable as the objects she'd destroyed. This pain was breaking her, and no amount of distractions could stop it.

"Heavens!"

Zula raised her head slowly to see a mouse servant standing in the doorway with a feather duster, mouth agape at the debris that littered the floor.

"W-what happened?" he demanded.

For the first time in her life Zula felt incredibly foolish, lying there in the aftermath of her temper tantrum. She scrambled to her footpaws.

"Erm...tripped," she muttered, dodging the servant and tearing down the hall. She ran, horrified the mouse would catch her and punish her at any moment, until she no longer knew where she was in the massive building. A depressingly familiar voice halted her escape, and only then did she realize she was back in the hall outside Sarkleyet's study, and the mouse had not given chase.

"What are you _really_ doing here, Nelda?" Sarkleyet's voice inquired.

She thought she'd heard her mother, but what was she doing here? Zula crept to the door, which stood slightly ajar, and peeped in through the narrow crack. Sarkleyet was still reclined at his desk, and Nelda stood opposite, paws folded across her chest as she swayed ever so slightly on her footpaws.

"Ye've no idea what tha' dried-up whore's place is like, Sarky, I can't take it anymore!"

The marten considered this over steepled paws. "Well, I suppose you could stay here for a few nights, I could have a spare room set up..."

Nelda slammed both paws down hard on the desk. "_No_, Sarky, I want th' Golden Brush fixed up. The villains ransacked the place. I need more...funding."

Sarkleyet shook his head. "Nelda, Nelda, you know I appreciate the services that you and Miss Pearl provide for lonely Evnaktans, but you do realize we are on the brink of a war, do you not? Spending time and money on the Golden Brush at this moment is simply out of the question. Perhaps after the Felldoh's Heirs are dealt with we can discuss it then."

_"I'm no' crawlin' back t' tha' whore!"_ the vixen shrieked. "This is about her, isn't it? Ye've always favored her, I knew it!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sarkleyet said, rolling his eyes. "You know perfectly well what my relationship with Pearl is like. If she came in here demanding money right now I'd give her the exact same answer, and I would continue to give her the same answer once this war is over. Now, I have told you that I will help you _after the war is over_. Take it or leave it, Nelda."

Nelda looked livid, but she bit her lip, fighting back the curses that threatened to spill from it. Suddenly the vixen switched tactics, slinking around to Sarkleyet's side of the desk, she leaned on his chair.

"Oh Sarky, y' know how grateful I am that ye've helped me out all these years." She ran her paws across his chest, leaning in until their faces were just inches apart. "I'd do anythin' t' be back doing what I do best at th' Golden Brush. Anythin'," she whispered huskily in his ear.

Sarkleyet laughed. "You are so predictable. The answer is still _no_, Nelda."

The vixen tore her paws away from his chest, growling, "I knew it! You favor _her_. You'd have her right on this desk if she came in begging, I'll bet."

"You are insane, Nelda Higgins." The marten sniffed at the air, wrinkling his nose. "Drinking again, are we?"

"I'm no' drunk _or_ crazy, y' ol' fool!" Nelda slurred madly, grabbing him by the lapels and shaking him violently. "It's always been her! I've just been that other whore, the one you throw your pity money at whenever you feel like it. Admit it! _Admit it!_"

"Let go of me, Nelda! You've gone mad!" Sarkleyet slapped the vixen, but instead of snapping her out of her drunken rage, it drove her absolutely ballistic. Nelda smacked him in the face, and Sarkleyet retaliated, half rising from his chair and twisting one of Nelda's arms agonizingly behind her back. With his free paw he reached for something hidden on the underside of his desk, but the vixen found something _else_ first. A hefty copper paperweight smashed into Sarkleyet's head, and the marten slumped back in his chair, half-conscious, blood gushing from a terrific gash on his forehead. Nelda's paws found the marten's throat and she squeezed as hard as she could. Sarkleyet gasped for breath, his eyes bulging, tongue lolling, paws scrabbling to break her iron grip as she throttled the life from him. His struggles became weaker until finally, mercifully, they ceased. Nelda let his body drop back into the chair, staring at her paws in horrified realization of what she'd done.

"What have...Oh...my..." she wheezed. Then she turned and darted for the door.

Zula stood transfixed in horror, unable to react, unable to hide herself away. The door swung open and Nelda nearly ran into her daughter. She stopped, and when her eyes recognized the obstruction they widened in blood-shot rage.

"_You_! What're ye doing here, spawn?"

Tears streamed down Zula's face. "Same thing the day y' killed Pa. Wishin' I'd never stopped t' listen in!"

"How...how _dare_ ye!" the vixen shrieked. "I won't stand for your lies anymore, worthless brat!"

Suddenly Zula felt two strange sensations. One, she was being hoisted off the ground, and two, she could no longer breathe. Her mother had her paws around her neck, just like she'd had Sarkleyet's, and she was squeezing mercilessly. Zula's survival instincts kicked in, and she reached into her vest pocket for her knife.

Nelda howled as the small blade gashed her forearm wide open.

"You dare...you _dare_..." she gibbered.

Nelda lunged, knocking Zula to the floor, her knife skittering away out of reach. Zula looked up at her mother, horrified.

"'M sorry, Mam, I had t'. Ye were gonna...I was gonna die..."

She yelped as Nelda's claws raked her face. The vixen struck her again and again, punctuating every word with a fresh blow. "Damn right ye're goin' t' die! Worthless child!"

Zula screamed for her mother to stop. She'd been beaten before, but she had always stopped eventually. This time was different. This time she wasn't going to stop.

And then the blows stopped, and there was another voice shouting in the corridor.

"Get off her! _Get off_!"

Zula's head reeled in agony, but she managed to look up and see Antonio struggling to restrain Nelda. The vixen was far too versed in dealing with rough males, however. She stomped on the stoat's footpaw, simultaneously driving her elbow into his stomach. Antonio stumbled backward, and Silisk attempted to trip up Nelda's footpaws, but she kicked her roughly aside, dodged Gericault, and made good her escape.

Zula's head lolled weakly. Something hot kept dripping into one of her eyes, so she closed it. She felt a paw lift her head and saw it was Antonio. She smiled at him, wincing as she did. Every movement seemed to hurt.

"Mr. Tonio," she groaned.

"Zula, what happened here?" Antonio asked.

"S...Sarky...She..." The fox raised a paw and pointed at the study.

Gericault darted into the study, though he came out moments later. "He's dead."

Captain Serpentcharmer hurried into the corridor, flanked by two of the Red Dusk. "What's goin' on? That Higgins whore jus' went tearin' out th' mansion, screamin' somethin' 'bout Marcion bein' a better leader than..."

"Sarkleyet's dead," Antonio said firmly, cutting across the marten's chatter.

"Dead?" Kione's single eye widened. "How?"

"Put two and two together, Ms. Serpentcharmer. It is not complicated."

"Y' mean...that whore..." Serpentcharmer snarled at the two Red Dusk with her. "Find 'er! Bring 'er t'me. I wanna kill 'er meself."

The marten marched into the study as her subordinates exited. She returned a minute later, stony-faced.

"'Fraid I won't be 'vailable t' take ye th' rest o' th' way," she said.

"You do what needs to be done," said Antonio. "Come, we need to get back to the Oasis and warn everyone they are no longer safe there."

"Why?" asked Silisk.

"Because it sounds like Nelda has just run off to Marcion, and it is no secret how much she hates Pearl's place."

He knelt to pick up Zula, but Gericault put a paw on his shoulder.

"I'll carry her. You get Silisk."

Despite everything that happened, Zula couldn't help but smile as the otter hefted her in his strong, battle-worn paws. They set out from the mansion, and Zula laid her head against Gericault's solid chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat soothing the aches and pains that jolted her every time the otter took a step.

"Zula, I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you earlier," the otter murmured.

"That's all right, Mr. Geri. Me mam is..." She trailed off, unable to think of an appropriate description.

Gericault shook his head. "Not just that. Last night, when you were crying. I was too busy crying on the inside to reach out to you."

"Cryin' on th' inside? I didn't know ye could do that, Mr. Geri."

The otter smiled. "I should've done something to help. I lost my sister, so I know exactly what you're feeling right now."

Zula's good eye widened. Somehow, the pain eased up a bit. Not the physical pain, but that agonized void she felt on the inside. A similar thing had happened when Antonio spoke to her last night. It was then that she realized that the key to getting rid of the pain was not to try and forget it, but to let others help share it.

"Thank you, Mr. Geri—er, Gericault."

They reached the Oasis unscathed, though Antonio grabbed every available beast he saw and told them what had happened.

"It's okay, y' can put me down now," Zula said to Gericault, as nice as it had been to be carried by him. The otter set her down, and though she was a bit wobbly on her footpaws at first, she felt much better. "I think I'll go see Miz Pearl. She'll get me all patched up."

A booming knock sounded at the door.

"Do not open it!" Antonio warned.

Zula scurried to the nearest window and pulled back the corner of the curtain. At least two dozen woodlanders stood at the front steps, armed to the teeth. The fox could see more of them arriving by the minute.

"Ah, crumbs."


	64. Only the Good Die Young

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 62. Only the Good Die Young  
**_by Aras  
_

_Why i seek you._

Why does somebeast seek something? Why does anybeast seek anything?

Aras rubbed wearily his forehead, trying to massage his brain into action. His thoughts had been chasing each other in circles for what felt like hours, without ever producing the right answer.

The first problem, of course, was that there was no way of knowing who "you" or "I" – check that, "i," since Brull had specified that it was lower-case – actually referred to. The second problem was that most of the motivations that Aras could fathom for seeking things contained more than four letters. He'd tried G-R-E-E and G-R-E-D as skewed forms of "Greed", just in case. Nothing. He'd extrapolated to M-O-N-Y, P-O-W-R, W-L-T-H, and eventually the simplistic B-C-U-Z. Still nothing.

"Aras."

"What?"

"Stop fiddling with that thing. They'll probably be coming around on patrol again any minute."

Aras sighed, and forced himself to shove the lockbox into his pack. _P-A-C-K,_ he thought. _What if it's that?_ His claws itched to test it, even if he knew full well that it was incorrect, because there was still the remote possibility that it _wasn't._ Despite the frustration, the loathing for this stupid riddle, something deep inside of him yearned to keep trying. It was like an itch, burning deep within the confines of his mind, which he was powerless to scratch.

He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. "Have you spotted one yet?"

The Sherriff shook his head. "Nah. The guards are mostly otters and hedgehogs, big brutish types. All male, too."

After lengthy discussion, Brull and Aras had elected to scope out the Felldoh's Heirs' infirmary. Odds were, most of the delicate young things would have been stationed there, out of harm's way. Ironic, that. However, they'd failed to take into account that the buildings were unmarked, and neither of them knew enough of the city to guess at where the Heirs were keeping their wounded. So they had resigned themselves to skulking about in the shadows until an appropriate target presented itself.

"Ssh," Brull cautioned, his voice low. "I hear somebeast."

Aras crouched, straining. Voices welled up from the unseen street, faint at first. As the sentries got closer, the burblings crystallized into voices.

"Oi, mate, hold up a sec. Stubbed me paw on summat."

"Gah, Kiper, you clumsy git. That's the third time you've stubbed it since brekkist."

"Well, I can't help it. It's got a mind of its own, me paw."

"Yeah, it took the one out of your 'ead."

Kiper thought about this for entirely too long before laughing. "Dawhaha. That's a good one, mate. Oi, speakin' of bekkist, when do we get lunch, anyhow?"

"Dunno. Travi an' Bernis are s'posed to relieve us, soon as they're done eatin' their lunch."

"No wonder it's takin' so long, then. Bernis has got a belly like a barrel, it'll take him all day to fill it."

"You're one to talk, mate. I once saw you eat two trifles by yourself yesterday."

The two sentries continued on down the street, gabbing amicably.

"Ruddy woodlanders and their ruddy lunches," said Brull. "You could fill half a book just talking about their lunches. Heh, ought to nab one of their cooks instead. Fancy they'd hate losing them." The rat looked back at Aras before adding, "I guess you're not much for trifle, though."

The wolverine smiled. "Not really, no." He shook his head, amazed at how quickly his dietary habits had become normal to Brull.

"What I wouldn't give for a good trifle," Brull lamented, drifting off. "Fruit and cream, and chunks of pastry all soaked in brandy... wonderful stuff, Aras. I'd have fifteen of those. Come to think of it, I'd have it without the cream. Can't stand that stuff. Gets stuck in the whiskers. Forget the fruit, too. And the pastry. In fact, The brandy's really the only good bit of a trifle."

Something went _click_ in Aras' head. "Lunch," he said.

"Hold on there," said Brull sharply. "I like jokes as much as the next fellow, but, given the circumstances, I think the minute you start calling me 'Lunch' we'd be better off working separately."

"No, I wasn't talking about you." Aras paused. "You'd probably taste ruddy terrible, anyway, with all the alcohol gunking up your innards."

Brull opened his mouth to protest, but Aras held up a reassuring paw. "It's okay, Sherriff. Kidding." _Kind of._

"What I actually meant was, the sentries are going for lunch. We should follow them."

A distinct twinkle appeared in Brull's eye. "Right. Because all of the Heirs go to the mess, sooner or later."

"And we can find ourselves a lady friend."

They both grinned.

=-=-=-=-=

"Anything yet?"

"Nope. It's been all ruddy males coming in and out of there, save for one or two females that look like they'd sooner bathe in blood than bathwater. We need somebeast... soft. Dainty."

Aras cursed. "I don't know if we're going to find one. They'd probably have to be the hardened sort to come out here."

"Phah, maybe. Bloody fates, we must've been here for hours. How ruddy long can a lunch last, anyhow?"

Being used to more unconventional mealtimes, Aras hadn't the faintest idea. He gave a passive shrug, and withdrew the puzzle box from his bag. If we're already stuck in one unsolvable mess, we might as well throw an unsolvable puzzle on top.

Brull shook his head. "Not that stupid thing again."

"Might as well pass the time doing something constructive."

The rat snorted derisively. "Suit yourself."

Aras grasped a pawful of his headfur and pinched, hoping that the pain would stir up some kind of solution. Just looking at the little lettered dials was beginning to give him a headache. _Why on earth does anybeast seek anything?_

Something bothered him about the phrase. It was vague, but it wasn't... clearly vague. Riddles, in Aras' experience, made some kind of sense when you solved them. But there wasn't any clear causal path that he could see. _Why i seek you. Why i seek you. Why i bloody well seek you. Four letters. Whyiseekyou. Aras rubbed his bleary eyes. Stupid box with its stupid riddles. Four letters. I've already tried all that I can think of, and it's so bloody useless. Why... i... seek... you... Why the bloody Hellgates would they tell anybeast to remember that?_

Aras blinked, feeling a new avenue opening in the corridors of his mind. _Wait. Four words. Four words, a phrase. That's how they remembered it. They weren't supposed to remember a feeling or a motive, they were just supposed to remember the phrase. It's an acronym. Of course._

The wolverine's heart began to beat faster as he clicked the first letter into place. W.

His claws began to tremble as he rolled the smoothly-carved dials. I. S. Oh, Fates, I bloody hope this works.

Aras bit his lip, mentally steeling himself. If the box doesn't open, I don't know what I'll do.

He turned the last dial to Y and found out, as the box remained resolutely shut.

Aras' fists clenched and shook as a protracted string of violent curses ran through his mind.

His hope fading, Aras double-checked the dials. The box still didn't open. He put it down, too disgusted to look at the stupid thing anymore.

_Alright, think. That wasn't right, but it must have been close. _

"Aras."

"What?" he grumbled, annoyed.

"Look."

Aras did. _Perfect_, his mind said. Aras hated himself for it, but it was true. The squirrelmaid was everything Brull had outlined: young, pretty, innocent. She looked completely out of place sweeping dead leaves and crusted mud from the stoop of the mess hall, like a flower blooming in the midst of a harsh desert. An otter brushed past her, and gave her a rogueish smile. She blushed, and batted her lashes shyly.

"Do you see anybeast around?"

Brull shook his head. "Nah, but wait for her to get a little ways further from the building. One good scream out of her and there'll be more Heirs on our backs than... well, than we've got hairs on our backs."

"Clever."

"I know."

The pair watched in mute anticipation as the squirrelmaid's broom flicked across the stoop, scattering stray twigs and leaves. Clearing the debris could, in reality, only have taken a few moments, but it seemed to take a bloody age.

In retrospect, they should have bloody well known that she'd finish sweeping and go back inside, but it gave them an inordinate shock when she actually did. Brull and Aras stared like idiots at the empty doorway.

"Damnation," Brull muttered.

"Do you think she'll come back?"

"Only if we sling a bunch of mud on the stoop."

"Maybe we-"

"No, we're bloody well not going to rustle up some mud, Aras."

"Can you see anything in there?"

Brull squinted. "Nope. But, if they're sweeping, that means they're finished stuffing their gobs, so there's probably only bakers and cooks left. Unless... oh, yes. I think she'll be coming out again in about... half an hour or so."

"What? Why?"

"Well, what do you do after you sweep a floor?"

"Sit down? I don't know."

Brull shot him a look. "Really?"

"Really."

"You mop it with water, to clean off all the spilled stuff."

"Oh."

"You don't mop stuff in Wolverine-land?"

"I lived in a hut, Brull. A hut with frozen dirt for a floor. And even, everything's frozen all year round. You'd only mop it if you wanted a muddy indoor skating rink."

"Good point." Brull shook his head morosely. "Anyway, my bloody point was that she's finished the sweeping, so now she'll probably grab a bucket of water and swab down all the floors. Soon as she comes to dump out the bucket, probably in half an hour or so, we can grab her."

Brull's estimate was vastly incorrect. At least thrice that amount rolled by while the squirrelmaid apparently scoured the floors with a level of fastidiousness that would have put off Antonio.

Brull's estimate was vastly incorrect. At least thrice that amount rolled by while the squirrelmaid apparently scoured the floors with a level of fastidiousness that would have put off Antonio. Aras killed the time continuing to puzzle over the box.

In the meantime, Aras exhausted several more combinations, his patience, and his claws. He had been on the cusp of something, and he bloody well knew it. It was something about the phrase, but he just couldn't figure out what...

"Aras, she's coming."

"Okay," he murmured absently.

Sure enough, she carried a bucket, from which a small amount of grayish water dribbled. The squirrelmaid hummed a melody to herself, heading for the alley. Aras and Brull, scarely able to believe their good fortune, huddled in the shadows, trying not to breathe.

She came steadily closer, closer, and –

"Now."

The events played out like a series of still captures, flicking across Aras' vision: Brull leaping forward, fists clenched... The bucket, splintering, smashed aside... Mop water, splattering in greasy droplets across the walls... The squirrel recoiling, scrambling backwards, defensive. Her mouth opening, preparing to scream...  
No. Instinctively, his arm came around. The blow caught the squirrelmaid under the jaw. She was lifted off her paws and flew back, hitting the wall. There was a horrible, hollow thud.

Aras panted heavily, his chest heaving.

"Wow," Brull said, solemnly. "Well done." The Sherriff approached the fallen maid, casting about for any sign of alarm. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the rat knelt and hovered the back of his paw above her nose. The hairs rippled slightly.

"She's alive," the rat said, with mild surprise.

Aras stared at their captive. She was exactly what they were looking for. Young. Young enough to have a whole bright future ahead of her, a future that was about to be stamped out. But, more than young, she was _innocent_. She didn't belong here, any more than he did. A small trickle of blood ran down her face, which was swelling slightly. Looking at it made him feel as though he had somehow attracted a thick film of grime to himself.

"Aras, we should go, before they notice she's gone."

_Congratulations, Aras. It's a new low, even for you. Not only are you the despicable sort of twisted monster who would do a thing like this, but you're also selfish enough to feel wretched about it afterwards._

"Aras, why are you –"

_Why are you... Why am I doing this? Why-am-I. Why-are-you. Ohhhhh... Oh. Oh._

It was as though a candle had been lit in a darkened room. He saw it. The answer was simple, so _simple_. It was beautiful, it was elegant, it was clever. It was right, and he knew it. He just needed the time to test it out.

A muttered curse from Brull brought him back to the present. Hating himself, Aras slung the squirrelmaid over his shoulder, and the two hustled quickly down the darkened alleyway.


	65. A Brief Interlude

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 63. A Brief Interlude  
**_by Zula  
_

"Zula, get away from that window!" Antonio hissed.

The young vixen scurried away and skulked behind the stoat's legs. Silence, laden heavily with dread, fell over the house; its inhabitants gathered in the front room, frozen in place, all eyes watching the door.

Another knock sounded. And then, a gravelly voice, muffled by the door, announced, "Vermin! We know this is your headquarters. Come out now and we may spare your lives."

"Oh, go 'n' boil yer arse," a ferret grumbled. Most unfortunately, he was within striking distance of Antonio, and he yelped as the stoat's paw gave him a firm whack to the snout.

"I see," the voice said.

Silence reigned for a few suspenseful moments, and then—

_Boom!_

The entire front wall of Pearl's home shook.

"Ooh, they've got a...a wotsit called...a batterin' ram!"

"Zula, I thought I had just told you to stay away from that window!"

The silence had evaporated into utter chaos. Beasts shouted and scurried about, pushing and shoving each other roughly as the Felldoh's Heirs continued to batter the door. Silisk wended her way amongst the stampeding footpaws, miraculously making it unscathed to a pair she recognized.

Zula squealed at the adder's unexpected presence. "Silly! Y' surprised me."

"Come," Silisk hissed in the vixen's overlarge ear when she had coiled herself about Zula's shoulders. "Let us be gone."

"Where?"

"I did perchance to hear in passing a strumpet of this dubious establishment announce the presence of a tunnel."

"Perch...Strum...Er...Tunnel! I know that one!" Zula said. "Where?"

"Out the back entrance. Come, Zula. Time is of the essence!"

Zula and Silisk hurried through the crowd of confused and terrified vermin, which by now seemed to have heard the same information as Silisk and were making their way _en masse_ to the rear of the house. A cluster of fur and flailing limbs and tails buffeted them at every turn, and it was all Zula could do to keep on her footpaws.

"Mister Geri! Gericault! Antonio! Where are you?" Zula yelled.

"There is no time. They will make their own way," said Silisk.

Zula's eyes filled with tears. "But—"

"Move!" Silisk urged.

The crowd had threatened to shove them back the way they had come.

"Hsst!" Silisk finally exploded. "Back, scoundrels, or Silisk shall fill your veins with icy death!"

The sight of a full-grown adder with vicious fangs fully on display caused the crowd to part somewhat. Silisk's head darted this way and that, snapping at the surrounding vermin until she and Zula reached the back door and exited out into the alley behind the Oasis. Two squirrels that had been unfortunate enough to be sent to patrol the back had had their necks snapped before they could raise the alarm. Their bodies lay like broken dolls. Somebeast had already lifted the heavy sewer lid. Together with the horde of escaping beasts Zula and Silisk climbed down into the sewer, dropping into the refuse with a squelching splash.

Above them, they thought they may have heard the first sounds of a struggle, before somebeast hurriedly slid the sewer lid back into place. They were plunged into darkness. Perhaps the Felldoh's Heirs had broken through the front door, or had sent more beasts to check on the back of the house when the two squirrels didn't report back. Perhaps they would never know for sure.

This time, sadly, Zula did not have Rekkua's shoulders to ride atop. As soon as her vision adjusted to the darkness she slogged about in filth up to her waist. It was not as horrid as she feared it would be.

They hadn't gone a terribly long way when they noticed most of the vermin were climbing up a ladder that led back to the surface.

"Splendid," Silisk said. "This has been a dreadful pong."

Zula paused. "Y' know, Silly, since we're down here already, there's someone I think we ought t' pay a little visit to. Haven't seen 'im in ages. He might even be able t' help us!"

"Miss Higgins, you will kindly escort me to the surface. Immediately." Silisk's eyes narrowed to yellow slits.

Zula jutted her jaw out resolutely. "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm gonna go see Mr. Nevyeer, I am. Y' can either come with me, or crawl through that yerself." The vixen pointed a claw down at the muck.

The serpent had never looked more flustered. "How dare you! I...I shall...I shall bite you if you do not acquiesce!"

Zula giggled. "Oh, Silly. Y' wouldn't bite me."

"Oh, yes? And from whence does this divine knowledge spring?"

Zula patted her scaly head. "I'm not as daft as y' think I am. Not really. I think I might just know why y' don't ever actually bite anybeast."

The adder's eyes widened and she sniffed grandly. "Ahem! A queen must show mercy to her subjects every now and then, that is all!"

The fox winked at her. "It's all right, Silly. Yer secret's safe with me, 'tis."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Silisk blustered.

"Whatever you say, Silly!"

Zula grinned, and the pair made their way deeper into the heart of the sewers.


	66. We Built This City

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 64. We Built This City  
**_by Pearl  
_

Say you don't know me, or recognize my face  
Say you don't care who goes to that kind of place  
Knee deep in the hoopla, sinking in your fight  
Too many runaways eating up the night

The vixen hitched her granddaughter a little higher on her hip as she led the pack of little ones through the streets of Evnact. She had forgotten how tiresome it was to carry the kit around. Had the youngun grown so much in the past few days? When would she learn how to walk on her own two paws and give her old Gran's back a rest?

"Ms. Pearl." A ferretmaid's voice broke her train of thought. "Am I really going to get to see my daddy when we get to your place?"

The vixen hushed the child and looked around the seemingly deserted streets before offering her reassurance, "Yes yes, of course. Didn't I tell you? I spoke to him just the other day. He was detained when he went out to buy food for you. But he's just fine and he'll be able to take care of you just as he always did."

"He never did such a good job." The ferretmaid frowned.

"Yes, well." Pearl straightened and readjusted Sandy before setting off again. "Come along, quietly please."

"I wish Mr. Aras and the sheriff were still with us." This time it was Emma who broke the silence. She had one paw around the makeshift sling that strapped the tiny kitten to her and the other held the paw of one of the twin ratmaids.

Pearl ground her teeth audibly but didn't answer.

The catmaid continued, "But I suppose they were only doing what they thought was best to help us get the island back from the Heirs."

The vixen whirled around. "Help the island? What do they know about Evnara? All they care about is hightailing it off this rock and maybe getting their paws on Sarkleyet's _Brandy_ in the mean time if they can manage it!"

"Ms. Pearl," Emma whispered nervously. "You really should keep your voice down. You're frightening the little'uns."

"Ha!" came the derisive chuckle from the back of the crowd of Dibbuns. "Your puny little island hasn't got a prayer if _my_ father's set against it."

"Shut your muzzle, Mardrey." Pearl shifted the kit in her arms once again so she could rub her forehead where she felt an ache beginning to throb. "I've had just about enough of your..."

"I told you to call me Drey." The squirrel pouted but then he saw something over the vixen's shoulder and pointed. "Is that where we're going? Ha! If that's where you work then I know why my father wanted to see you."

The insolent pup's eyes raked the madam from ears to tail, "Yeah, he would like you; not so bad for an old hag."

Pearl ignored the comment and turned to look where he had been pointing. They had indeed reached the Oasis but it was not at all as she had left it. The front door was off its hinges and various pieces of furniture had been thrown out into the street.

"Emmy, stay with the kits and keep them quiet." The vixen ran to her establishment with Sandy still clutched in her grasp.

The kit giggled but was patted and hushed.

"H-hello?" Pearl called tentatively into hollow shell of the once grand building.

Broken glass clinked from one of the upstairs rooms and then Crystal ran down to greet the vixen, broom and dust pan in her paws. "Ms. Pearl, we were so afraid they got you!"

"What happened here?" The madam scanned the walls and floors in disbelief. Even the storm had not left her home in this bad a state. She continued to pat and hush the little one in her arms as if to calm her own fears.

"It was those Felldo's Heirs. They came in here bangin' doors down and makin' a horrible mess. Most everybeast ran out the back but me and Prell were hiding. They found us but they just sort of took one look at us and then carried on smashing up the place. I woulda tried to stop them, Ms. Pearl, I really would, but Prell said I'd just end up getting' myself killed so we stayed where we was until they lost interest and went away."

Pearl did her best to follow the rush of words and then asked, "Prell?"

"Prellon." Crystal smiled coyly up to the second story landing from which a shy male waved down at them. "Oh Ms Pearl, I know how you feel about species and all that but he's so sweet and brave and..."

"Never mind that," the vixen waved a paw settling the kit on her hip once again. "What about the others: Mr. Antonio, Rekkua, Zula..."

The ratmaid seemed not to have heard the question. She had just noticed the kit. "You found her! Aww hello, love. Come see Aunt Crysty." She held out her paws and Sandy willingly went to her.

"Crystal! The others, are they safe?"

"I – well they er..."

"We believe everybeast made it out unharmed," the male rat stepped up to the two females and answered for Crystal. "Except for the lizards. They sort of..."

"Well they just went crazy, Ms. Pearl," Crystal continued for him. "It was just like the madness all over again. But Prell was so brave!" She crooned taking a step closer to him. "You shoulda seen how brave he was, Sandy love, just like a knight in armor. He saved my life." She whirled the little vixen around, telling her the tale. "That mean old lizard woulda eated me up if he hadn't..."

Pearl rounded on the rat, if he was a rat. He smelled a little too woodland to be a proper rat but then everything in this place stunk of woodlanders after they'd all tramped through with their stinking little paws. "You killed her?"

"I-is everything alright?" Emma slipped cautiously into the building followed by the troop of little ones.

"Emmy!" Crystal ran to her friend. "Who's that you've got there? Aww he's so sweet. Why, he looks just like..."

The catmaid grinned. "He does, doesn't he? I'm sure he must be Di's."

"What's his name?"

"Well he didn't come with one but I was thinking of calling him Coal because you know he's sort of like a little diamond in the rough."

They both giggled but Pearl snapped, "Would you two shut up!" The vixen turned angrily on Prellon once again. "Well?"

"I - I, she was... I was..." the rat stammered taking a few steps backward.

"Just tell me where she is, her body I mean. I don't care what the circumstances of her death were she was still a friend."

"D-down in the basement. We threw er put her body down there with the other one."

Pearl shook a claw at the two silly females. "I'm going to pay my respects. You guard those little ones with your lives until I get back."

The vixen had to steel her nerves to go down into the cold damp place. She'd never liked the basement and with the promise of finding two dead monitor lizards...well, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

As she descended the stairs, Pearl thought of the last time she'd been forced to go underground. Rekkua had been with her then, alive and well, along with Sheriff Brull and little Zuzu. She wouldn't have been able to bear it if her friends hadn't been their beside her. She owed Rek this much, an official good-bye.

And where was that Zuzu girl now, she wondered. Poor thing, having to live all those years with Nelda Higgins. It wasn't her fault she had a drunk, nut-job for a mother. She was just another of the children who were the unfortunate victims of all this mess.

"Ugg!" The smell hit Pearl before she actually saw the bodies. She took a kerchief out of her pocket and held it over her muzzle. She nearly tripped over the crumpled heap of blood and scales at the bottom of the stairs. It was obvious that her friend had been unceremoniously dumped from the doorway above.

"Rekkua you deserved so much better," the vixen cried, her voice muffled by the kerchief. "When all this is over I will go personally to tell your family what happened. I'll make sure that you are given the proper burial or whatever it is your creatures do for their fallen warriors. Although I suppose if it _was_ the madness you'll need to be burned. But don't you worry I'll be there to make sure you're honored for your deeds. I wasn't able to be there for my son when he..."

Pearl could have gone on rambling her good-bye until she passed out from the stench but she heard a noise in the darkness and then realized that there was a light coming from somewhere in a far corner. It had to be a very small light or else it was coming from very far away. But that wasn't possible unless...

"A tunnel."

It must have been here the whole time, an entrance to the system that ran under the whole town, the system where the victims of the madness had been forced to hide themselves away. Well, no longer!

Once the idea was firmly in her mind, Pearl knew what she needed to do. With only a quick glance back up the stairs to where her granddaughter and the other young ones were waiting, she made her way swiftly down the tunnel towards the source of the light.

The floor of the tunnel led steadily downward. Pearl yelped when her footpaw squelched into the sludge. That part of her previous subterranean excursion had been blissfully forgotten until this moment. The Madam, however, did not let this stop her and merely lifted the hem of her skirt as she pressed doggedly on.

It wasn't long before she came upon a gathering of the Marties. The vixen didn't question her good luck in finding such a large number of them grouped together, thus. She thanked the fates that she wouldn't have to wander the tunnels any further to find them.

Glancing around quickly, Pearl found just what she needed, and climbed atop a wooden crate so she could be seen by everybeast while she addressed them. She placed two claws in her mouth and whistled sharply around her fangs to gain the attention of the assembly and then smiled at them beguilingly.

"My friends, fellow islanders, the time has come for us to act. Too long have you been forced to hide yourselves away."

"What're you doin' 'ere, Ms. Pearl?" A cheerful voice questioned.

The madam hushed the interruption without a thought, "Not now, Zuzu. I'm speaking to the nice creatures." She turned back to her audience. "Above a hoard of woodlanders lays waste to our homes and businesses. Everybeast among you were witness to the effects of the storm that blasted our island..."

"But Ms. Pearl..." the little vixen chirped again.

"When I'm finished," the elder fox clicked her tongue and tried to regain her train of thought. "The force that comes against us now is far more destructive than any wind or rain. Remember the way we banded together to rebuild our city. Remember how you stood beside your fellow creatures paw in paw to reclaim your homes from the sea. And they..." Pearl pointed at the dark ceiling. "They call us _vermin_, while they murder and pillage and burn!"

A small paw tugged at her skirt but the madam was really getting into her speech now. She whispered down before continued, "Just a moment now, love."

Pearl made eye contact with as many of the creatures before her as she could, like the true performer she was. "Now is the time, once again, to take back our island! We are strong! We are survivors! We Are Evnakt!"

The cry was taken up by the assembled beasts, motley crew that they were. They raised picks and shovels, and whatever else was close to paw along with a few rusted blades and slings as they continued with the chant, "We Are Evnakt!" Their disfigurements from the disease made them look all the more fearsome.

"That was a good talk you gave 'em, Ms. Pearl," Zula complemented as the older vixen stepped down from the crate with a small splash. "Good thing we already asked 'em to join us and they had time to get their weapons and such."

"Yes, very good," Pearl frowned, looking from the face of the little vixen to that of the serpent who was draped over her shoulder and realizing that they had stolen her thunder. She shook her head then and forced a smile. They were on the same side after all. "I am glad that you, and you Ms. Silisk," she nodded at the adder. "got safely away from the woodlanders. It looked like quite a..."

"Brilliant! Now this is more like it!"

Pearl spun to see the unwelcome squirrel.

"I mean when it was just you measly beasts it was hopeless but with an army of the walking dead, Ha Ha! That'll take the fluff outta Dad's tail!"

The madam was prepared to give the youngster a piece of her mind when she felt the slithering of scales over her shoulder.

"What is the meaning of this tree crawler's presence in this place?"

Pearl weighed her answer carefully, fearing the coils that were wrapping loosely around her neck. "He's Marcion's," she croaked.

"Fat lot of good the family ties do me. He just shuffles me off with the Dibbuns," the squirrel pouted.

Zula waded over and patted his paw. "Me mam went and joined your dad."

"That's why..." the madam gasped. "My home."

Drey eyed the younger vixen curiously, "Is your mam like her?" He pointed a claw at Pearl, who huffed.

Zula however spoke in her defense, "Oh no. Ms. Pearl's gone respac- respic- respectibibble."

"An' what about you?" the squirrel asked the young vixen.

"Good grief!" Pearl rolled her eyes. "Like father, like son."

"Me?" Zula shrugged, clearly having not gotten the cut of the squirrel's jib. "I'm just Zula, 's all."

"That's too bad. I mean, maybe if you'd lose the specks you'd look pretty decent." He smirked as he walked away to get a better look at the rag tag army.

"Why did you bring him?" Silisk squeezed her coils a bit tighter and flashed her fangs.

"I didn't bring him," Pearl nearly squeaked. "He followed me. He's only a kit and I don't think he even likes his father. B-but maybe it could help us, somebeast from their side in our custody?"

She was saved from further scrambling by a very familiar one-eared dogfox. "Ms. Pearl," he smiled and then he nodded solemnly at Silisk. "Majesty." He seemed much more at ease here with others like himself than he had in Sarkleyet's garden. "We have organized ourselves into groups and we are ready to go to the s-surface." His voice broke a little nervously on the final word.

If these scarred and tattered beasts could keep it together they might make a decent fighting force.

Silisk loosened her coils slightly and patted Pearl's back with her tail, "Excellent."


	67. And Gullying Hurts, Right

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 65. And Gullying Hurts, Right  
**_by Brull  
_

"Are you done yet?"

"Not yet."

Brull had skilfully avoided sticking his head any further into the shed than he needed to. He had told Scarnose to make it look good. The rat wasn't sure if he really wanted to see how it was going. "Well, hurry it up. She's got to look beat up, not unrecognizable."

"Hee."

A muffled scream convinced Brull that the gag was a good idea. No sense in alerting every beast too early. "Let me know when you've got it wrapped up."

"Hee."

Who knew that the guttural noise of "Hee" could have so many connotations?

A faint whiff of blood mixed with who-knows-what compelled Brull to close the shed quickly and scuttle back to Aras, sitting on a crate and trying out the puzzle on that silly box. What good was having a glass of Brandy when you couldn't drink it? Casting aside his wishes that it had been "Red Wine" instead, Brull nudged the wolverine. "They're still working at it."

Aras nodded, half listening, still working on the box.

"Don't go for this sort of thing, usually. The torture, that is. Seems gratuitous. But we need a beat up body, and that's what we're gonna get, one way or another."

"Mm-hm."

"Always preferred hanging, myself. The old quick drop, sudden stop. Light goes on, light goes off, and plenty of time to hit the pub afterwards. With torture, you have clean up afterwards, and the mess gets all over your paws..."

A single stare pierced Brull's sentence, killing it instantly. "The mess is what bothers you?"

Brull shrugged. "Well, it's not a huge deal, sure. The smell I'm not too fond of, and the blood stains the paws something fierce. S'pose if you wore gloves..."

"What about the fact that we're killing a complete stranger?"

"...Not really..." The rat felt uncomfortable. Was Aras going soft on him? "Now, hang on, you don't go about getting to know the favourite color of beasts you're about to eat, do you?"

Aras switched his eyes back to the box. "...No, I suppose I don't."

Raising a brow at this peculiar turn in conversation, Brull switched it back to something more enjoyable. "Now, a good hanging. Something you can make a day out of. Bring a lunch, a drink or two, and watch the festivities. No blood, too, so you can bring the whole family..."

"How many innocent beasts have you killed, Brull?"

What was with the wolverine today? "No such thing as innocence, 'less some beast has eaten all their vegetables from day one. Let's be serious..."

"Brull." If a no-nonsense mentality could be summed up with a picture, that picture would be Aras's face.

"I... I don't know..." sputtered the rat. It wasn't really something he thought about all that often. "Not that many, I don't think." They all usually deserved it one way or another. Brull found himself irritated at this sudden delving into his career choices. He _hated_ when he got judged. "Maybe one or two. No, wait three. Or maybe four..."

Aras nodded in a "thought so" kind of way. "I see."

"Now, hold on there, pal, what's that mean?"

Strangely, the wolverine didn't point in an exaggerated accusing fashion as Brull had thought he would. Rather, he hung his head, looking almost sad. "It doesn't bother you, then. I think... it bothers me."

How did one pep talk somebeast who ate other creatures for dinner and had the physical ability to break necks with a single claw? "Look, I know we can't all have the strength of character I do. It's no shame feeling inadequate."

Aras frowned. "That wasn't what I meant. I meant that you can act immorally with greater ease than I."

Brull made a small grunting noise. "And what wholesome acts of goodness have you done for the world lately?"

_Click._

There was no bright lights, no fireworks, no choir in the background chanting. It wasn't needed. That small _click_ could have stopped an army short if they had been spending as much time with that box as Aras had. The self satisfied glow on the wolverine's face was spectacle enough to emphasize what had just happened.

Brull gulped. He hadn't even cared about the whole thing to begin with, and even he felt the magnitude of the event. "Did it...?"

"It did." The lid of the box had lifted up just a few centimetres as the lock was released from its hold.

Placing his paws on his hips, Brull tried to find the right words, but could only come up with, "Well, I'll be." After all that headache and sacrifice, running around, deaths, puzzle solving, head beating, the thing which had driven ten beasts mad for who-knows how long was there. "S'pose you ought to open it all the way?"

"Suppose I should." He began to open the box.

"I hope it's not broken."

A glare from the wolverine indicated that this was probably the wrong thing to say. Brull stopped talking.

Aras flipped the box open. The Sheriff held his breath. The wolverine's expression was blank, infuriatingly refusing to give any hint to Brull as to what the state of the Brandy was.

Then, slowly, like a bright crescent moon appearing behind a cloud, Aras began to smile.

Out of the box came a small glass vial, containing a blood red liquid. Brull didn't know what he had been expecting, but it had probably been something more glamorous looking. All in all, a bit disappointing. "So that's it, huh? Sarky's big treasure," the Sheriff nodded. "Let's break it."

"What?"

"Joking," Brull quickly amended, holding his paws up at the angrily shocked Aras. "Still, what do we do with the thing now? We're not giving it back to what's-his-name, and we can't very well use it ourselves."

"True," Aras agreed, though it didn't seem to bother him overmuch. He still seemed satisfied with having just opened the box. At the sound of approaching footpaws, Aras defensively tucked the vial under his arms, hiding it from the eyes of Scarnose.

The Sheriff greeted the stoat with a nod. "All done, then?"

"Hee."

"That's a 'yes,' right?"

"Hee."

"Lovely." Brull clapped his paws together. No time for thinking about morals and such now. Time for deviousness and conniving and everything else that Brull did exceptionally well. "Right, then! Take the body and string it up over near the market square, and make sure to drop the Red Dusk badge like I said. Then mosey over back to Sark's place and tell Serpentcharmer that the FH are spread out, or something. Just get her and the rest of them out so they can kill one another, right?"

"Hee." Obediently, Scarnose shuffled off, slinging a very beat-up squirrel corpse over his shoulder as he passed by the shed again.

"That boy needs to expand his vocabulary," Brull assessed. Turning his attention back to the wolverine, the rat smiled. "Game time."

Aras nodded slowly, rising from his seat. "Game time," he agreed. "Then I'll be off to send Calderon and the Long Patrol in the right direction."

"Not with that, you're not," said Brull, pointing at the vial still in Aras's claws. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think we should be taking that anywhere near anybody we're planning on fighting."

The wolverine pondered this for a second, holding both the box and the vial in his very large paws. Brull wondered how Aras didn't go about crushing the pair of them. "You may be right," Aras conceded. Then, without warning, he tossed the vial to the rat, who caught it in a panicked reflex. "You hold onto it."

Out of the many plans Brull had in mind, this was not one of them. "What? No! I don't want it!" This was strictly a true statement; he had wanted nothing to do with the Brandy from the get-go, and this sentiment persisted until this moment.

Aras crossed his arms. "I can't bring it with me, you said so yourself. You're the only one who can hold onto it right now."

"Well, why don't we bury it or something? Worked wonders the last time someone decided to hide the thing."

"And someone found it the last time someone decided to hide it. We can't risk it falling into the wrong paws at this stage."

Brull found it very amusing that, for once, his paws weren't considered the wrong ones. Even still, holding the object of much desire on his being wasn't conducive to healthier living. "Can't we dig up Tony and give it to him? That way, if he gets killed for it, we still win."

Aras clasped his head in his paws. "Brull, will you please stop thinking of someone other than yourself for a change?"

"No!"

"Look, I'll be back in a short while, and then I'll take care of it. Just stay out of trouble, and nothing bad should happen." Before Brull could contest that staying here was begging something bad to happen, Aras stomped off with the box, leaving the Sheriff by his lonesome.

Stay here like a good little rat while I take care of everything. Bah! Brull was extremely tired of everybeast telling him what to do. Go save Evnakt, break us out of jail, go fetch the Red Brandy, find Nevyeer, blah, blah, blah. When Brull told others what to do, they ignored him. Ought to be a law.

He brought the vial closer to his eye, taking a better look. So this is what it was all about... Heh. All the rest of them went on the fool's errand and got themselves killed looking for the damned thing, and he had it handed to him no questions asked. There was some kind of irony in that. He was the last one on the island who wanted the Red Brandy, and here it was in his paws. Brull gave the vial a little shake, watching the liquid slosh about without producing the slightest froth or fizz. Didn't look very appetizing.

Brull wondered if it actually worked. "Bottled bloodwrath, huh?" he muttered. Fancy what you could do with that. How bored must Sarkleyet have been when he decided this was a good idea? The last thing the world needed was something which could replace the power of the punch. Before you know it, they'd be inventing things which could level buildings in a flash. Silly.

It occurred to Brull he was holding a super-weapon in a very breakable glass vial. Reaching into his pocket, the Sheriff produced a long-since-empty flask. He had been hoping to fill it with a different kind of Brandy, but it would be a better carry case than a vial. Frankly, Brull couldn't care less if the whole thing was smashed and lost, but having an angry Aras after him was hardly an appealing thought either. Uncorking the vial, and having an unpleasantly strong iron smell greet hit nostrils, Brull gingerly began to pour the Red Brandy from its old home into its new one.

"Hey, boss!"

It was only by some incredible trick of luck that the vial didn't drop out of Brull's paws right then and there. Catching his nerves in the nick of time, the rat breathed a sigh of relief, settling for the fact that he had gotten half of the Brandy into the flask. No sense in risking another adventure and spilling the lot. Re-pocketing the flask, Brull put the cork back on the still haf-full vial. "Yeah, Pretty Ears, what is it?"

The fox strolled through the alley towards the Sheriff. "We couldn't reach the Market. Too many prying eyes. So we settled for putting the body over by the fountain. Is that all right?"

"Yeah, swell," Brull mumbled, waving a dismissal at the fox, using the paw which was holding the Brandy.

Pretty Ears' eyes widened as he caught sight of the red liquid the rat was holding. "Is that... the Red Brandy?"

Brull managed a laugh. "That's it," he said, swishing the remaining Brandy back and forth.

The fox seemed almost entranced. "I had thought that Antonio had it..."

Turning away from the fox, Brull began to walk down the alley, tucking the vial into his vest pocket. Ought to head back to the Oasis, if he was going to wait anywhere. "All the stoat has is a feminine complex. Heh, this would just eat him up..."

Sheriff Brull could not remember telling Pretty Ears anything about the Red Brandy.

Grabbing a nearby trash can, Brull lifted it level with his head as he twirled back around, the metal crumpling as the wooden plank Pretty Ears was swinging connected with it. With a hefty shove, the rat forced Pretty Ears stumbling backwards. "Well, well," Brull scowled. "A stool pigeon. And here I was, about to make you my right hand beast."

The fox smiled his usual calm grin. If he had any concerns with exposing himself as a turncoat, he wasn't showing it. "You're a remarkably easy creature to play, Sheriff Brull. All it takes is a little stroke of your ego, and you do the rest."

"That's not all I do." The fox ducked as the trash can was hurled at his head, but couldn't dodge the clothesline from Brull, which sent him head over heels. A fake! A yes-beast, waiting for a time to strike! Damn it all, Brull's ascent to gang leader was based on the cooing of some sly fox! And that, he told himself, was why you never trusted any beast but yourself. "You've got five seconds to improve my..."

A quick lash out with his legs helped Pretty Ears catch Brull in mid-stride, causing the rat to tumble over face first. The vial of Brandy rolled out of his pocket, amazingly un-shattered. Seeing the coveted vial in limbo, the fox scrambled to grab it, but was grabbed in mid crawl by an irate Brull. Gripping Pretty Ears in a bear hug, the rat tried to crush the ribs of the fox, but was greeted with a pair of back pawed punches to the head, forcing Brull to release the hold.

Finding himself with a few seconds to breathe, Pretty Ears managed to dash forward, picking up the vial of Red Brandy, and he might have made it further if his tail wasn't suddenly seized and jerked back. The whiplash of the move stunning him, there was little Pretty Ears could do as he was lifted over the shoulders of Brull and then tossed back to the ground, landing with a heavy "thud" on the alley floor.

"Now that I've adjusted your attitude," spat Brull, wiping blood off of his busted lip, "I think you ought to tell me what your game is, Pretty Ears. If that's your real name." It occurred to Brull that it probably wasn't his real name, as Brull himself coined the term, but he let it slide.

The wind thoroughly knocked out of him, the fox had to pant as he formed his words. "It was nothing personal, you understand. I really was very grateful when you broke me out of prison. But the fact is, I already work for somebeast else."

Brull gave the fox a kick in the side, just because he could. "And I bet old Sarky pays you well, huh? Had to keep an eye on his pet projects, did he?"

The breathless laughter with which this accusation was met was disconcerting. "Sarkleyet knows nothing. He was so certain that he had been careful with his Red Brandy. But a few prying eyes in the right places pays dividends. We learned all about the ten of you, the ones he entrusted with his mission, and I was sent to keep an eye on the lot of you, just in case the Brandy was indeed discovered. Playing your lackey offered me the perfect way to keep tabs on the situation."

The Sheriff was angry. He was usually angry, but this was different. This one... actually hurt. He had trusted Pretty Ears, damn it all! Being stabbed in the back was not a pleasant experience. No wonder Sybil had been so angry. _How many innocent creatures have you killed..._ "Time for the million coin question: who's your boss?"

"Me!"

Turning around, Brull had enough mental fortitude to register that the creature swinging the chair at his head was a madly smiling sable before the world disappeared with a heavy "clang."


	68. Brand New Day

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Redscape" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 66. Brand New Day  
**_by Antonio  
_

**-This appeared as a moral dilemma  
Cause at first it was weird though I swore to eliminate  
The worst of the plague that devoured humanity  
Its true I was vague on the How  
so how can it be that you have shown me the light?-**

Chaos. Disorder. Entropy. He recalled an instructor of his lecturing him on the nature of the universe, how everything in nature sought to defy order. If what was erupting around him then was not proof of that, than Antonio could not imagine what was.

By the time the front door splintered, he was already well inside of the house, shielded from view on one side by an undulating mass of fur, screams and horrified faces, blocked on the other side by solid wood. Silisk and Zula were gone. A cold sensation he could not adequately describe gripped him before melting away, replaced by urgency.

He needed to get to higher ground; the stairs would slow anybeast attempting to pursue him. Buffeted this way and that like a pebble in a warm, fearful sea, the stoat barely made it to the banister before the Feldoh's Heirs were but yards away. Antonio raced to the head of the stair, arriving on the landing just as the woodlanders reached the base. He soon found that he was not the only one to think to take cover on the second floor; two rats pushed past him hauling a heavy dresser which soon went crashing down the stairs, more than likely killing all of the pursuing woodlanders. In the least, it blocked the stairs, preventing anybeast from following them. Were his head clearer at the time, Antonio would have thanked the two rats.

Instead, he made his way past them, his attention focused on the window. Breaking the glass, and saying a silent apology for ruining the one symmetrical thing in the house, he was able to make his way quickly out onto the landing where he could sit out the remainder of the fray. Time alone with only the muffled sounds of battle behind him gave Antonio a moment to breathe, to think.

Zula and Silisk were gone, more than likely. They had either been crushed by the stampede for the exits or else captured, provided the Feldoh's Heir's were taking captives. That marked four of his own now dead, not to mention the hare…

It _was_ best not to mention. That track of thought was becoming tiresome and worn. Yet, his mind continued to coast back towards it, pulled in magnetically. All that he could do to break free from that path was to set his mind to other things. He should regroup his resources, rally any still alive and try for either an escape or a counter attack. Antonio mentally girded himself for the task. His body, however, ceased to respond, even as the two rats who saved his life came bounding out of the window, dashing off onto far away roof tops. Only when the last death rattle echoed was he able to move his body.

By the sound of things, the Oasis was now abandoned. _Mostly abandoned,_ a small rattling corrected him. A peak over the edge of the roof told him that the Feldoh's Heir's had not quite finished with the area. Another glance inside told him that they had left a small team behind, probably for scouting purposes. Antonio grasped his paw, stretching out his wrist before moving on to the other. Finished, he placed a paw on the hilt of his saber. Now was an ample opportunity to vent some pent up frustration.

***  
Remarkable, how quiet the city was after all of that commotion. Antonio had wondered if perhaps it had been there the entire time, if his company had always prevented him from taking notice of it. Mired in the comfortable simplicity of the silence, the stoat supposed this might explain why warlords took it upon themselves to ransack and ruin. The battles were as noisy as doom, but afterwards there was nothing but silence. A shame that same could not be said for the inside of Antonio's head.

Then, as was want to happen, something had to ruin the quiet. Somewhere nearby, a beast was trying to walk stealthily, _trying_ to do so being their major downfall. When sneaking about, you do not try to be quiet – you simply _are_ quiet.

A ready paw immediately darted to his saber just as the stoat pressed himself against a wall, peering carefully out from his cover to see who was trying to sneak about. His grip relented instantly. When the stoat did move away from his cover, he kept up a cautious step, not so much to escape notice as it was to avoid getting too close to the very unkept and ragged excuse for a muslid.

"Pray, what is it that brings you to this part of town?" asked the stoat as he rounded the corner, coming up right behind the beast in question.

_What indeed?_ he wondered. What the beast was carrying did not suggest a simple stroll, nor a calm escape. Slumped over his back were the very tattered and mutilated remains of another beast. It, or possibly she, used to be young, more than likely a squirrel although there was barely any telling from the current condition.

_Having a light snack?_ he absently thought, remembering tales of cannibalistic vermin. He immediately scolded his morbidity. What his mind's eye visualized could not be un-seen. Quite in fact, it unearthed a visual image of something Antonio would rather have left buried.

The stoat – Scarnose, he remembered his name being, owing to the large scar on his nose…redundant, and mundane – jumped and turned about quickly at Antonio's question, brandishing a knife in his direction. The creature calmed as soon as he recognized Antonio.

"You're that stoat git, aren'tche?"

"A stoat I am, but I would advise you not to call me a…git," he spat, the word so vile-tasting on his tongue he had to get it off as soon as possible. "Especially when I am holding a weapon with a longer range than yours and most especially when you are both burdened by the weight of a carcass as well as holding your knife like a complete imbecile. I ask again, why are you here?"

The "imbecile" remark seemed to have struck a cord. Sad that this beast did not know his place. Yet, after a few moments deliberation, he spoke.

"Part of a plan th' boss has. Beat up this liddle squirrel lass real good. Then, we're gonna leave her in the middle of the town for those Felder's Heir's or summat to see, make 'em think th' Red Dusk did 'er in."

Antonio took a breath. He put extra time and care into the next set of words he chose.

"A most…cunning plan. I will admit, I would not have expected such a plot to come from such a place. Would you be able to tell me where the kind Sheriff is currently?"

***  
How the mighty had fallen. In any other scenario, this sentence would have been apt. When it came to Brull, however, Antonio supposed he should have expected as much. Brutalizing a bystander in order to further his own goals was apparently not below the Sheriff, along with of general disregard for the dead, poor grooming and improper grammar. At the risk of off-setting them, Antonio clenched his teeth hard. When he found Brull…he was not yet sure what he would do, but he knew it would be painful, slow, and involve very many a pointy object lodged in very many a sensitive area.

Antonio neared the area where that scar-nosed monstrosity said Brull would be. The rat was nowhere to be found. The stoat began checking more unconventional areas for the rat to be hiding. He went so far as to visually scour the roof tops for sight of him. Not the slightest speck nor splotch of filth from the nuisance rodent. He must have been elsewhere.

The stoat did not have to search far before he found something of interest. Just at the end of an alleyway, a large, rat-like body was being dumped into a dumpster by a familiar looking fox. A poetic ending for the rat, Antonio supposed, but then he should still go and inspect the scene. Brull might not be dead. Antonio had yet to determine if that was a good thing. Still, he had to be sure, if for no other reason than to sate his curiosity. Furthermore, that an ally of Brull's would suddenly betray his leader could spell trouble for Antonio and whatever remained of the survivors of the attack on the Oasis.

"You there," said Antonio, drawing his saber.

The fox flinched, staring at him before running away down the alley. As well he should against an opponent like Antonio. But the stoat wasn't about to let him get away.

He chased the fox a short distance before finding him at a dead end. For once, fate turned a leaf.

"As I was saying," started, Antonio as he drew steel once more. "What were you doing with Mister Brull's corpse?"

The fox laughed. "Corpse? Aye, that's what he'd be if I'd had my way. The boss, though, he was thinking different. He had more of a 'take the Brandy and run" strategy in mind."

The stoat rolled his eyes. So Brull was alive after all. One more loose end to remove.

"Might I ask your motivation in betraying Brull?"

The fox sighed "No, you may not."

"Very well," Antonio pointed the blade level with the fox's throat. The beast stood a flick of the wrist from death. "I demand that you tell me why you betrayed Brull."

"How can I betray a beast I wasn't working for in the first place?"

Harsh vibration coursed through the blade as the fox parried his weapon out of the way with his knife. In the midst of recovering, Antonio nearly suffered a slash to his face while the fox charged and raked the knife at his head. Quick reflexes saved him; just as he caught the first glimpse of the fox's movement, the stoat crouched down and rolled backwards from his thigh to his shoulder, coming up quickly on his footpaws two feet away from the fox.

The opponents circled. Antonio feinted left. The fox took the bate, making as if to block, leaving him open for the strike to his left thigh. Antonio quickly regained his stance, leveling his now bloodied blade at the fox's head.

"I'll ask politely once before scoring your eyes from your head as a warning; who do you work for?"

The fox looked up at him, a complete lack of fear in his expression. Quite in fact, he looked amused.

Before Antonio could react, the fox seized his blade with his bare paws and jabbed at his face with his knife's handle. A dull, resounding ache pumped through his jaw as his saber was knocked away and the fox perched atop him, blade raised.

The stoat moved his head out of the way just before the moment of impact, the blade burying itself into the ground just next to his ear. Antonio seized his attacker's wrists, holding the fox's paws on the weapon while he head-butt against the beast's strong, thick skull. In retrospect, it was not as clever a move as first thought. Regardless, he finished with a knee to the fox's chest before shoving the heavy body off of him and rolling away.

When he was finally able to get to his feet, the fox just disappeared from view.

"Wise choice!" Antonio called after him.

He sheathed his saber and turned on his heel in one smooth movement. Nearby, the stoat spied a grimy shop window. After cleaning the surface, he made sure that his collar was tucked and that his whiskers, uneven though they may be, were as orderly as possible. His next objective was Brull.

Rancid stink greeted his nostrils as he pushed the heavy lid open. In the dark, he could still make out the rise and fall of the rat's chest, proving the fox truthful. The stoat paused, debating the merit of his planned actions. It had to be done, he reasoned. Antonio reared back, taking in a final breath of fresh air before leaning over into the dumpster to drag Brull out.

The rat awoke sputtering and wide eyed, staring up at the stoat who had poured water onto him. After blinking a bit, he seemed to finally recognize Antonio.

"Oh, goody. Because getting laid out and thrown in a dumpster wasn't nearly enough to royally piss me off, now Tony's here. Fan-bloody-tastic."

"You can be assured that the feeling is mutual. There are many things I would have preferred to do today. Pulling an ungrateful rodent from a pile of filth and reviving him was not among them."

Gone was the false courtesy he had given the rat before. Antonio let his words seethe with his true feelings for Brull.

"Stick up yer bum get lodged a little deeper since the last time we met, Tony?"

He ignored the rat's rebuke. "Open warfare is one thing, killing another, but to involve an innocent in your struggles? To brutalize a civilian to further your goals? Even after knowing what you were capable of, that still surprises me."

Brull's confused face soon burst into a bemused expression. "Really, now, Lord Antonio's taking time out of his busy schedule full of grammar lessons and etiquette critiques to give me a morality speech? You know, you're the last beast I expected it from, prude that you are. How many different pieces was that hare in when you finished with him?"

"That hare was a soldier. He was prepared to die. He was far from being an innocent."

The way the rat shook his smug, fat head made Antonio want to break it open.

"Not the way I heard it. Poor blighter kept screaming about how he didn't know anything and had nothin' t'do with killin' your girlfiend. We could hear him from all the way down the hall."

Steel scraped against scabbard.

"On your feet."

Antonio could hear Brull mutter something as he obeyed the command at sword point. The rat either said it so quietly as to be unintelligible or else Antonio had blocked it from his mind. When Brull was standing, Antonio took a few steps back from the rat, sword still held in an offensive position. He sheathed the weapon, casting it aside. The stoat brought up his fists.

"We settle this like gentlemen."

Brull suggested Antonio do something that was altogether not fit to repeat.

"Would you rather I draw steel once more?"

Brull ceased to protest. Antonio dropped into a fighting stance when Brull brought his foot slamming into Antonio's gut. He had barely enough time to tense his muscles to shield himself from the impact before the rat followed with a cross punch, the move deflected just in time by his forearm. Following the flow of the block, Antonio countered with a left hook and was rewarded by dull, cold pain as his knuckles made contact. He followed up with a few more punches to the face, a few making contact but only two of them actually hitting their mark as apposed to a forearm or a shoulder.

At some point, Antonio got too close. Brull seized the opportunity by driving his elbow into The stoat's stomach. His eyes throbbing from the impact, the stoat grabbed the rat by the forearm and held the limb into his chest, preventing him from getting free. He countered by elbowing into the rat's head once, twice, thrice, nearly four times before the rat sent him stumbling back with a punch to his nose.

Antonio regained his composure in time to see Brull dash off to the side of the alley, picking up the saber. As he attempted to draw, the stoat ran toward him, driving his shoulder into the rat, throwing the rat into the hard brick wall. The saber flew into the air and landed at the far end of the alley.

The fight continued many blows further, with neither side in a clear lead. They were evenly matched in ferocity as well as battle scars. At the end, Antonio braced himself on a nearby dumpster while Brull slumped against the opposite wall.

"You are more skilled than I had anticipated, I will concede that," said Antonio, gingerly touching a blackened eye

"You hit like a girl, but damned if it doesn't hurt anyway," managed Brull, speaking with a split lip as he did. "Now that we're finished," added the rat just after he spat some blood onto the pavement, "What's got your tail in such a twist anyways?"

Antonio's face became sullen.

"The squirrelmaid."

"Who?"

"The one whose corpse you mangled."

"Wager y'bumped into Scarnose on the way here." He didn't immediately continue, although Antonio supposed it had more to do with Brull making sure all of his teeth were in place – Antonio himself had counted them twenty-three times now and was counting them again to make it an even twenty-four – and less to do with any guilt or grief the rat might have had for his actions. "That is to get some in-fighting going. That way, we won't have to do all of the work.

Antonio's voice and expression remained as blank as the city streets. "She had nothing to do with this battle. She was innocent."

Brull looked at Antonio sternly but not without humor, like a schoolmaster confronted with an annoying yet amusing student. "All that princely knowledge in your head an' you can't work out how this works. This is war, 'Tonio. Everyone, whether they had anything to do with it or not, is fair gain. Any_thing_ is fair gain. You want to get off of this rock alive, and believe me, I could care less if you do or don't, you have to remember that."

Antonio closed his eyes. He let his mind wander for a good while before opening his mouth again.

"I should go find the Brandy now. You did a good enough job having it stolen."

The rat barked a harsh laugh. "Are you daft? Pretty Ears might have some of the Brandy, but I'm not stupid enough to keep all of it in one place."

From his pocket the rat drew a flask. At first, Brull made no move, to resist or give Antonio anything. The stoat was about to threaten the rat with another brawl when he did something unexpected. Without an extra word he handed it to him.

" 'S a weight off my shoulders, nothing more," he said once the stoat had concealed the flask on his person. "An' don't tell anybeast that I did that."

Antonio smiled. Brull cringed in response.

"You can rest assured that no one will know."

_And if all goes well, then no one will know that I have it or what I have planned._

Antonio gave the stoat a short bow before turning on his heel. "It has been a pleasure, Mister Brull."

"It's been a pleasure beating your face in. Now sod off."

The stoat made his way to the end of the alley. The stark sky above parted just a bit, a canyon of light embedded in the grey mountains. Antonio had been walking through the dark for so long, not without a plan but without the drive to carry it out. Ironic, then, that the drive he needed to do what was necessary would come from such a source. Brull had been able to push past all of the chaos and continue though with his own plans. Why could not a much more refined beast do the same?

_If all goes well, then no one will know what I have planned until it is too late._


End file.
